2 


WU    WEI 


WU     WEI 

A   Phantasy 

BASED    ON   THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   LAO-TSE 


FROM    THE     DUTCH 

OF 

HENRI    BOREL 

AUTHORISED  VERSION   BY  M    E.   REYNOLDS 
(MEREDITH  IANSON) 


THIRD     EDITION,     REVISED 


NEW  YORK 

THE  THEOSOPHICAL  PUBLISHING  CO 

25  WEST  45  th  STREET 
1911 


BUTLER  &  TANNER, 
THE  SELWOOD  PRINTING  v  OR 
FROME,  AND  LONDON. 


Preface 

THE  following  study  on  Lao-Tse's  "  Wu-Wei" 
should  by  no  means  be  regarded  as  a  transla- 
tion or  even  as  a  free  rendering  of  the  actual  work 
of  that  philosopher.  I  have  simply  endeavoured 
to  retain  in  my  work  the  pure  essence  of  his 
thought,  and  I  have  given  a  direct  translation  of 
his  essential  truths  in  isolated  instances  only,  the 
rest  being  for  the  most  part  a  self-thought-out 
elaboration  of  the  few  principles  enunciated  by  him. 

My  conception  of  the  terms  "  Tao  "  and  "  Wu- 
Wei  "  is  entirely  different  from  that  of  most  sino- 
logues (such  as  Stanislas  Julien,  Giles,  and  Legge), 
who  have  translated  the  work  "  Tao-Teh-King." 
But  this  is  not  the  place  to  justify  myself.  It  may 
best  be  judged  from  the  following  work  whether  my 
conception  be  reasonable  or  incorrect. 

Little  is  contained  in  Lao-Tse's  short,  extremely 
simple  book,  the  words  of  which  may  be  said 
to  be  condensed  into  their  purely  primary  signi- 
ficance— (a  significance  at  times  quite  at  vari- 
ance with  that  given  in  other  works  to  the  same 

v 

2005232 


vi  PREFACE 

words  *) — but  this  little  is  gospel.  Lao-Tse's  work 
is  no  treatise  on  philosophy,  but  contains,  rather, 
merely  those  truths  to  which  this  (unwritten)  phi- 
losophy had  led  him.  In  it  we  find  no  form  nor 
embodiment,  nothing  but  the  quintessence  of  this 
philosophy. 

My  work  is  permeated  with  this  essence,  but  it  is 
no  translation  of  Lao-Tse.  None  of  my  metaphorical 
comparisons,  such  as  that  with  the  landscape,  with 
the  sea,  with  the  clouds,  are  anywhere  to  be  found 
in  Lao-Tse's  work.  Neither  has  he  anywhere  spoken 
of  Art,  nor  specially  of  Love.  In  writing  of  all 
this  I  have  spoken  aloud  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
instinctively  induced  by  the  perusal  of  Lao-Tse's 
deep-felt  philosophy.  Thus  it  may  be  that  my  work 
contains  far  more  of  myself  than  I  am  conscious  of ; 
but  even  so,  it  is  but  an  outpouring  of  the  thought 
and  feeling  called  up  in  me  by  the  words  of  Lao-Tse. 

I  have  made  use  of  none  but  Chinese  works  on 
Lao-Tse,  and  of  those  only  a  few.  On  reading 
later  some  of  the  English  and  French  translations, 
I  was  amazed  to  find  how  confused  and  unintelli- 
gible these  books  were. 

I  adhered  to  my  simple  idea  of  Lao-Tse's  work, 
and  of  my  work  I  could  alter  nothing,  for  I  felt  the 
truth  of  it  within  me  as  a  simple  and  natural  faith. 

HENRI  BOREL. 
*  By  Confucius,  for  instance. 


Contents 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 


TAO 


CHAPTER  II 
ART .25 

CHAPTER  III 
LOVE      ....  -45 

NOTES    .         .  .  ....     65 


Vll 


TAG 


The  numbers  in  the  text  refer  to  notes  by  the  author, 
which  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  the  book. 

M.  E.  R. 


CHAPTER   I 

TAG 

I   WAS  standing  in  the  Temple  of  Shien    Shan, 
on  an  islet  in  the  Chinese  Sea,  distant  a  few 
hours'  journey  from  the  harbour  of  Ha  To. 

On  either  side  rose  mountain  ranges,  their  soft 
outlines  interwoven  behind  the  island  to  the  west- 
ward. To  the  eastward  shimmered  the  endless 
Ocean.  High  up,  rock-supported,  stood  the  Temple, 
in  the  shadow  of  broad  Buddha-trees. 

The  island  is  but  little  visited,  but  sometimes 
fisher-folk,  fleeing  before  the  threatening  typhoon, 
anchor  there  when  they  have  no  further  hope  of 
reaching  the  harbour.  Why  the  Temple  exists 
in  this  lonely  spot,  no  one  knows;  but  the  lapse 
of  centuries  has  established  its  holy  right  to  stand 
there.  Strangers  arrive  but  seldom,  and  there 
are  only  a  hundred  poor  inhabitants,  or  there- 
abouts, who  live  there  simply  because  their  ances- 
tors did  so  before  them.  I  had  gone  thither  in  the 
hope  of  rinding  some  man  of  a  serious  bent  of  mind 
with  whom  to  study.  I  had  explored  the  temples 
and  convents  of  the  neighbourhood  for  more  than 

I 


T 


4  WU  WEI 

a  year,  in  search  of  earnest-minded  priests  capable 
of  telling  me  what  I  was  unable  to  learn  from  the 
superficial  books  on  Chinese  religion ;  but  I  found 
nothing  but  ignorant,  stupid  creatures  everywhere 
— kneeling  to  idols  whose  symbolical  significance 
they  did  not  understand,  and  reciting  strange 
"  Sutras  "  not  one  word  of  which  was  intelligible 
to  them.1  And  I  had  been  obliged  to  draw  all  my 
information  from  badly  translated  works  that  had 
received  even  worse  treatment  at  the  hands  of 
learned  Europeans  than  at  those  of  the  literary 
Chinese  whom  I  had  consulted.  At  last,  however, 
I  had  heard  an  old  Chinaman  speak  of  "  the  Sage 
of  Shien  Shan  "  as  of  one  well-versed  in  the  secrets 
of  Heaven  and  Earth  ;  and — without  cherishing 
any  great  expectations,  it  is  true — I  had  crossed  the 
water  to  seek  him  out. 

This  Temple  resembled  many  others  that  I  had 
seen.  Grimy  priests  lounged  on  the  steps  in  dirty- 
grey  garments,  and  stared  at  me  with  senseless 
grins.  The  figures  of  "  Kwan  Yin  "  and  "  Cakya- 
muni "  and  "  Sam-Pao-Fu  "  had  been  newly  re- 
stored, and  blazed  with  all  imaginable  crude  colours 
that  completely  marred  their  former  beauty.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  dirt  and  dust,  and  pieces  of 
orange-peel  and  sugar-cane  were  strewn  about.  A 
thick  and  heavy  atmosphere  oppressed  my  breast. 
Addressing  one  of  the  priests,  I  said : 
"  I  have  come  to  visit  the  philosopher.  Does  not 
an  old  hermit  dwell  here,  called  after  '  Lao-Tse  '  ?  " 


TAG  5 

With  a  wondering  face  he  answered  me  : 

"  Lao-Tse  lives  in  the  top-most  hut  upon  the  cliffs. 
But  he  does  not  like  barbarians." 

I  asked  him  quietly  : 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  him,  Bikshu,  for  a  dollar  ?  " 

There  was  greed  in  his  glance,  but  he  shook  his 
head,  saying  : 

"  I  dare  not ;  seek  him  yourself." 

The  other  priests  grinned,  and  offered  me  tea, 
in  the  hope  of  '  tips.' — 

I  left  them,  and  climbed  the  rocks,  reaching  the 
top  in  half  an  hour  ;  and  there  I  found  a  little  square 
stone  hut.  I  knocked  at  the  door,  and,  shortly  after, 
heard  some  one  draw  back  a  bolt. 

There  stood  the  sage,  looking  at  me. 

And  it  was  a  revelation. 

It  seemed  as  though  I  saw  a  great  light — a  light 
not  dazzling,  but  calming. 

He  stood  before  me  tall  and  straight  as  a  palm- 
tree.  His  countenance  was  peaceful  as  is  a  calm 
evening,  in  the  hush  of  the  trees,  and  the  still  moon-  -^ 
light ;  his  whole  person  breathed  the  majesty  of 
nature,  as  simply  beautiful,  as  purely  spontaneous, 
as  a  mountain  or  a  cloud.  His  presence  radiated 
an  atmosphere  holy  as  the  prayerful  soul  in  the  soft 
after-gleam  on  a  twilit  landscape. — I  felt  uneasy 
under  his  deep  gaze,  and  saw  my  poor  life  revealed 
in  all  its  pettiness.  I  could  not  speak  a  word,  but 
felt  in  silence  his  enlightening  influence. 

He  raised  his  hand  with  a  gesture  like  the  move- 


6  WU  WEI 

ment  of  a  swaying  flower,  and  held  it  out  to  me — 
heartily — frankly.  He  spoke,  and  his  voice  was 
soft  music,  like  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the  trees  : — 

"  Welcome,  stranger  !  What  do  you  seek  of  me  ? 
— old  man  that  I  am  !  " 

"  I  come  to  seek  a  master,"  I  answered  humbly  ; 
— "  to  find  the  path  to  human  goodness.  I  have 
long  searched  this  beautiful  land,  but  the  people 
seem  as  though  they  were  dead,  and  I  am  as  poor  as 
ever." 

"  You  err  somewhat  in  this  matter,"  said  the 
sage.  "  Strive  not  so  busily  to  be  so  very  good. 
Do  not  seek  it  overmuch,  or  you  will  never  find  the 
true  wisdom.  Do  you  not  know  how  it  was  that 
the  Yellow  Emperor a  recovered  his  magic  pearl  ? 
I  will  tell  you.3 

"  The  Yellow  Emperor  once  travelled  round  the 
north  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  climbed  to  the  summit 
of  the  Kuenliin  mountains.  On  his  return  to  the 
southward  he  lost  his  magic  pearl.  He  besought 
his  wits  to  find  it,  but  hi  vain.  He  besought  his 
sight  to  find  it,  but  in  vain.  He  besought  his  elo- 
quence to  find  it,  but  that  was  also  in  vain.  At  last 
he  besought  Nothing,  and  Nothing  recovered  it. 
'  How  extraordinary  ! '  exclaimed  the  Yellow  Em- 
peror, '  that  Nothing  should  be  able  to  recover  it ! ' 
Do  you  understand  me,  young  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  this  pearl  was  his  soul,"  I  answered, 
"  and  that  knowledge,  sight,  and  speech  do  but  cloud 
the  soul  rather  than  enlighten  it ;  and  that  it  was 


TAO  7 

only  in  the  peace  of  perfect  quietude  that  his  soul's 
consciousness  was  restored  to  the  Yellow  Emperor. 
Is  it  so,  Master  ?  " 

"  Quite  right ;  you  have  felt  it  as  it  is.  And  do 
you  know,  too,  by  whom  this  beautiful  legend  is 
told  ?  " 

"  I  am  young  and  ignorant ;    I  do  not  know." 

"  It  is  by  Chuang-Tse,  the  disciple  of  Lao-Tse, 
China's  greatest  philosopher.  It  was  neither  Con- 
fucius nor  Mencius  who  spoke  the  purest  wisdom 
in  this  country,  but  Lao-Tse.  He  was  the  greatest, 
and  Chuang-Tse  was  his  apostle.  You  foreigners 
cherish,  I  know,  a  certain  well-meaning  admiration 
for  Lao-Tse  also,  but  I  think  but  few  of  you  know 
that  he  was  the  purest  human  being  who  ever 
breathed. — Have  you  read  the  '  Tao-Teh-King  ?  ' 
and  have  you  ever  considered,  I  wonder,  what  he 
meant  by  '  Tao  ?  ' 

"  I  should  be  grateful  if  you  would  tell  me, 
Master." 

"  I  think  I  may  well  instruct  you,  young  man. 
It  is  many  years  since  I  have  had  a  pupil,  and  I  see 
in  your  eyes  no  curiosity,  but  rather  a  pure  desire 
of  wisdom,  for  the  freeing  of  your  soul.  Listen 
then.4— 

"  Tao  is  really  nothing  but  that  which  you  Westerns 
call  '  God.'  Tao  is  the  One ;  the  beginning  and  the 
end.  It  embraces  all  things,  and  to  it  all  things 
return. 

"  Lao-Tse  wrote   at    the  commencement   of   his 


8  WU  WEI 

book  the  sign  :  Tao.  But  what  he  actually  meant 
— the  Highest,  the  One — can  have  no  name,  can 
never  be  expressed  in  any  sound,  just  because  it  is 
The  One.  Equally  inadequate  is  your  term  '  God.' 
— Wu — Nothing — that  is  Tao.  You  do  not  under- 
stand me  ? — Listen  further  !  There  exists,  then, 
an  absolute  Reality — without  beginning,  without 
end — which  we  cannot  comprehend,  and  which 
therefore  must  be  to  us  as  Nothing.  That  which  we 
are  able  to  comprehend,  which  has  for  us  a  relative 
reality,  is  in  truth  only  appearance.  It  is  an  out- 
growth, a  result  of  absolute  reality,  seeing  that  every- 
thing emanates  from,  and  returns  to,  that  reality. 
But  things  which  are  real  to  us  are  not  real  hi  them- 
selves. What  we  call  Being  is  in  fact  Not-Being, 
and  just  what  we  call  Not-Being  is  Being  in  its  true 
sense.  So  that  we  are  living  in  a  great  obscurity. 
What  we  imagine  to  be  real  is  not  real,  and  yet 
emanates  from  the  real,  for  the  Real  is  the  Whole. 
Both  Being  and  Not-Being  are  accordingly  Tao. 
But  above  all  never  forget  that  '  Tao  '  is  merely  a 
sound  uttered  by  a  human  being,  and  that  the  idea  is 
essentially  inexpressible.  All  things  appreciable  to 
the  senses,  and  all  cravings  of  the  heart  are  unreal. 
Tao  is  the  source  of  Heaven  and  Earth.  One  begat 
Two,  two  begat  Three,  Three  begat  Millions.  And 
Millions  return  again  into  One. 

"  If  you  remember  this  well,  young  man,  you 
have  passed  the  first  gateway  on  the  path  of  Wis- 
dom. 


TAG  9 

"  You  know,  then,  that  Tao  is  the  source  of  every- 
thing :  of  the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  birds ;  of  the 
sea,  the  desert,  and  the  rocks ;  of  light  and  dark- 
ness ;  of  heat  and  cold  ;  of  day  and  night ;  of  sum- 
mer and  winter,  and  of  your  own  life.  Worlds  and 
Oceans  evaporate  in  Eternity.  Man  rises  out  of  the 
darkness,  laughs  in  the  glimmering  light,  and  disap- 
pears. But  in  all  these  changes  the  One  is  manifested. 
Tao  is  in  everything.  Your  soul  in  her  innermost 
is  Tao. — 

'  You  see  the  world  outspread  before  you,  young 
man  ?  .  .  .  " 

With  a  stately  gesture  he  pointed  sea- 
wards.— 

The  hills  on  either  side  stood  fast,  uncompromising, 
clear-set  in  the  atmosphere — like  strong  thoughts, 
petrified,  hewn  out  by  conscious  energy — yielding 
only  in  the  distance  to  the  tender  influence  of  light 
and  air.  On  a  very  high  point  stood  a  lonely  little 
tree,  of  delicate  leafage,  in  a  high  light.  The  evening 
began  to  fall,  with  tender  serenity ;  and  a  rosy 
glow,  dreamy  yet  brilliant,  lent  to  the  mountains, 
standing  ever  more  sharply-defined  against  it,  an 
air  of  peaceful  joyousness.  In  it  all  was  to  be  felt 
a  gentle  upwardstriving,  a  still  poising,  as  in  the 
rarefied  atmosphere  of  conscious  piety.  And  the 
sea  crept  up  softly,  with  a  still-swaying  slide — with 
the  quiet,  irresistible  approach  of  a  type  of  infinity. 
The  sail  of  a  little  vessel,  gleaming  softly  golden, 
glided  nearer.  So  tiny  it  looked  on  that  immense 


io  WU  WEI 

ocean — so  fearless  and  lovely  !  All  was  pure — no 
trace  of  foulness  anywhere. 

And  I  spoke  with  the  rare  impulse  of  a  mighty  joy. 

"  I  feel  it  now,  O  Master  !  That  which  I  seek  is 
everywhere.  I  had  no  need  to  seek  it  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  for  it  is  quite  close  to  me.  It  is  everywhere 
— what  I  seek,  what  I  myself  am,  what  my  soul  is. 
It  is  familiar  to  me  as  my  own  self.  It  is  all  revela- 
tion !  God  is  everywhere  !  Tao  is  in  everything  !  " 

"  That  is  so,  boy,  but  confuse  it  not !  In  that 
which  you  see  is  Tao,  but  Tao  is  not  what  you  see. 
You  must  not  think  that  Tao  is  visible  to  your  eyes. 
Tao  will  neither  waken  joy  in  your  heart  nor  draw 
your  tears.  For  all  your  experiences  and  emotions 
;/  are  relative  and  not  real. 

"  However,  I  will  speak  no  more  of  that  at  pre- 
sent. You  stand  as  yet  but  at  the  first  gate,  and  see 
but  the  first  glint  of  dawn.  It  is  already  much  that 
you  should  realize  Tao  as  present  in  everything. 
It  will  render  your  life  more  natural  and  confident 
— for,  believe  me,  you  lie  as  safe  in  the  arms  of  Tao 
as  a  child  in  the  arms  of  its  mother.  And  it  will 
make  you  serious  and  thoughtful  too,  for  you 
will  feel  yourself  to  be  in  all  places  as  holy  a  thing 
as  is  a  good  priest  in  his  temple.  No  longer  will  you 
be  frightened  by  the  changes  in  things,  by  life  and 
death  ;  for  you  know  that  death,  as  well  as  life, 
emanates  from  Tao.  And  it  is  so  natural  that  Tao, 
which  pervaded  your  life,  should  also  after  death 
continually  surround  you. 


TAG  ii 

"  Look  at  the  landscape  before  you  !  The  trees, 
the  mountains,  the  sea,  they  are  your  brothers,  like 
the  air  and  the  light.  Observe  how  the  sea  is  ap- 
proaching us  !  So  spontaneously,  so  naturally,  so 
purely  '  because  so  it  must  be.' — Do  you  see  your 
dear  sister,  the  little  tree  on  yonder  point,  bending 
towards  you  ?  and  the  simple  movement  of  her 
little  leaves  ? — Then  I  will  speak  to  you  of  Wu-Wei,5 
of  '  non-resistance/  of  '  self-movement '  [on  the 
breath  of  your  impulse  as  it  was  born  out  of  Tao. 
Men  would  be  true  men  if  they  would  but  let  their 
lives  flow  of  themselves,  as  the  sea  heaves,  as  a 
flower  blooms,  in  the  simple  beauty  of  Tao.  In 
every  man  there  tis  an  impulse  towards  that  move- 
ment which,  proceeding  from  Tao,  would  urge 
him  back  to  Tao  again.  But  men  grow  blind 
through  their  own  senses  and  lusts.  They  strive 
for  pleasure,  desire,  hate,  fame  and  riches.  Their 
movements  are  fierce  and  stormy,  their  progress  a 
series  of  wild  uprisings  and  violent  falls.  They  hold 
fast  to  all  that  is  unreal.  They  desire  too  many 
things  to  allow  of  their  desiring  the  One.  They 
desire,  too,  to  be  wise  and  good,  and  that  is  worst  of 
all.  They  desire  to  know  too  much. 

"  The  one  remedy  is  :  the  return  to  the  source 
whence  they  came.  In  us  is  Tao.  Tao  is  rest. 
Only  by  renunciation  of  desire — even  the  desire 
for  goodness  or  wisdom — can  we  attain  rest.  Oh  ! 
all  this  craving  to  know  what  Tao  is  !  And  this 
painful  struggle  for  words  in  which  to  express  it 


12  WU  WEI 

and  to  inquire  after  it ! — The  truly  wise  follow 
the  Teaching  which  is  wordless — which  remains 
unexpressed.6  And  who  shall  ever  express  it  ? 
Those  who  know  it  (what  Tao  is)  tell  it  not ;  those 
who  tell  it,  know  it  not.7  Even  I  shall  not  tell  you 
what  Tao  is.  Yourself  must  discover  it,  in  that  you 
free  yourself  from  all  your  passions  and  cravings,  and 
live  in  utter  spontaneity,  void  of  unnatural  striving. 
Gently  must  Tao  be  approached,  with  a  motion  re- 
poseful as  the  movement  of  that  broad  ocean.  That 
moves,  not  because  it  chooses  to  move,  nor  because 
it  knows  that  it  is  wise  or  good  to  move  ;  it  moves 
involuntarily,  unconscious  of  movement.  Thus  will 
you  also  return  to  Tao,  and  when  you  are  returned 
you  will  know  it  not,  for  you  yourself  will  be  Tao." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  looked  at  me  gently. 
His  eyes  shone  with  a  quiet  light,  still  and  even  as 
the  tint  of  the  heavens. 

"  Father,"  I  said,  "  what  you  say  is  beautiful 
as  the  sea,  and  it  seems  simple  as  nature ;  but  surely 
it  is  not  so  easy — this  strifeless,  inactive  absorption 
of  man  into  Tao  ?  " 

"  Do  not  confuse  words  one  with  another,"  he 
replied.  "  By  strifelessness — Wu-Wei — Lao-Tse  did 
not  mean  common  inaction, — not  mere  idling,  with 
closed  eyes.  He  meant  :  relaxation  from  earthly 
activity,  from  desire — from  the  craving  for  unreal 
things.  But  he  did  exact  activity  in  real  things. 
He  implied  a  powerful  movement  of  the  soul,  which 
must  be  freed  from  its  gloomy  body  like  a  bird  from 


TAG  13 

its  cage.  He  meant  a  yielding  to  the  inner  motive- 
force  which  we  derive  from  Tao  and  which  leads  us 
to  Tao  again.  And,  believe  me  :  this  movement 
is  as  natural  as  that  of  the  cloud  above  us.  .  .  ." 

High  in  the  blue  ether  over  our  heads  were  golden 
clouds,  sailing  slowly  towards  the  sea.  They 
gleamed  with  a  wonderful  purity,  as  of  a  high  and 
holy  love.  Softly,  softly  they  were  floating  away. 

"  In  a  little  while  they  will  be  gone,  vanished  in 
the  infinity  of  the  heavens,"  said  the  hermit,  "  and 
you  will  see  nothing  but  the  eternal  blue.  Thus 
will  your  soul  be  absorbed  into  Tao." 

"  My  life  is  full  of  sins,"  I  answered ;  "I  am 
heavily  burdened  with  darkening  desires.  And  so 
are  my  benighted  fellow-men.  How  can  our  life  ever 
— thus  ethereally,  in  its  purest  essence — float  towards 
Tao  ?  It  is  so  heavy  with  evil,  it  must  surely  sink 
back  into  the  mire." 

"  Do  not  believe  it,  do  not  believe  it !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, smiling  in  gracious  kindliness.  "  No  man 
can  annihilate  Tao,  and  there  shines  in  each  one  of 
us  the  inextinguishable  light  of  the  soul.  Do  not 
believe  that  the  evilness  of  humanity  is  so  great 
and  so  mighty.  The  eternal  Tao  dwells  in  all ;  in 
murderers  and  harlots  as  well  as  in  philosophers  and 
poets.  All  bear  within  them  an  indestructible 
treasure,  and  not  one  is  better  than  another.  You 
cannot  love  the  one  in  preference  to  the  other  ;  you 
cannot  bless  the  one  and  damn  the  other.  They 
are  as  alike  in  essence  as  two  grains  of  sand  on  this 


14  WU  WEI 

rock.  And  not  one  will  be  banished  out  of  Tao 
eternally,  for  all  bear  Tao  within  them.  Their 
sins  are  illusive,  having  the  vagueness  of  vapours. 
Their  deeds  are  a  false  seeming ;  and  their  words 
pass  away  like  ephemeral  dreams.  They  cannot  be 
'  bad/  they  cannot  be  '  good '  either.  Irresistibly 
they  are  drawn  to  Tao,  as  yonder  waterdrop  to  the 
great  sea.  It  may  last  longer  with  some  than  with 
others,  that  is  all.  And  a  few  centuries — what 
matter  they  in  the  face  of  Eternity  ? — Poor  friend  ! 
Has  your  sin  made  you  so  fearful !  Have  you  held 
your  sin  to  be  mightier  than  Tao  ?  Have  you  held 
the  sin  of  men  to  be  mightier  than  Tao  ? — You 
have  striven  to  be  good  overmuch,  and  so  have 
seen  your  own  misdoing  in  a  falsely  clear  light.  You 
have  desired  overmuch  goodness  in  your  fellow-men 
also,  and  therefore  has  their  sin  unduly  troubled  you. 
But  all  this  is  a  seeming.  Tao  is  neither  good  nor 
bad.  For  Tao  is  real.  Tao  alone  is ;  and  the  life 
of  all  unreal  things  is  a  life  of  false  contrasts  and 
relations,  which  have  no  independent  existence,  and 
do  greatly  mislead.  So,  above  all,  do  not  desire  to 
be  good,  neither  call  yourself  bad.  Wu-Wei — 
unstriving,  self-impelled — that  must  you  be.  Not 
bad — not  good ;  not  little — and  not  great ;  not  low 
— and  not  high.  And  only  then  will  you  in  reality 
be,  even  whilst,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  you  are  not. 
When  once  you  are  free  from  all  seeming,  from  all 
craving  and  lusting,  then  will  you  move  of  your 
own  impulse,  without  so  much  as  knowing  that  you. 


TAG  15 

move ;  and  this,  the  only  true  life-principle — this 
free,  untrammelled  motion  towards  Tao — will  be 
light  and  unconscious  as  the  dissolution  of  the  little 
cloud  above  you." 

I  experienced  a  sudden  sense  of  freedom.  The 
feeling  was  not  joy — not  happiness.  It  was  rather 
a  gentle  sense  of  expansion — a  widening  of  my  mental 
horizon. 

"  Father,"  I  said,  "  I  thank  you  !  This  revelation 
of  Tao  lends  me  already  an  impulse  which,  though  I 
cannot  explain  it,  yet  seems  to  bear  me  gently  for- 
ward. 

"  How  wonderful  is  Tao  !  With  all  my  wisdom 
— with  all  my  knowledge,  I  have  never  felt  this 
before  !  " 

"  Crave  not  thus  for  wisdom !  "  said  the  philo- 
sopher. "  Do  not  desire  to  know  too  much — so  only 
shall  you  grow  to  know  intuitively ;  for  the  knowledge 
acquired  by  unnatural  striving  only  leads  away  from 
Tao.  Strive  not  to  know  all  there  is  to  know  con- 
cerning the  men  and  things  around  you,  nor — and 
this  more  especially — concerning  their  relations  and 
antagonisms.  Above  all,  seek  not  happiness  too 
greedily,  and  be  not  fearful  of  unhappiness.  For 
neither  of  these  is  real.  Joy  is  not  real,  nor  pain 
either.  Tao  would  not  be  Tao,  were  you  able  to 
picture  it  to  yourself  as  pain,  as  joy,  as  happiness 
or  unhappiness  ;  for  Tao  is  One  Whole,  and  in  it  no 
discords  may  exist.  Hear  how  simply  it  is  expressed 
by  Chuang  Tse  :  « The  greatest  joy  is  no  joy.'  An<jl 


16  WU  WEI 

pain  too  will  have  vanished  for  you !    You  must 
never  believe  pain  to  be  a  real  thing,  an  essential 
element    of   existence.     Your   pain   will   one   day 
vanish  as  the  mists  vanish  from  the  mountains. 
For  one  day  you  will  realize   how  natural,  how 
spontaneous  are  all  facts  of  existence  ;    and  all  the 
great  problems  which  have  held  for  you  mystery 
and  darkness  will  become  Wu-Wei,  quite  simple, 
nort-resistent,  no  longer  a  source  of  marvel  to  you. 
For  everything  grows  out  of  Tao,  everything  is  a 
natural  part  of  the  great  system  developed  from  a 
single  principle. — Then  nothing  will  have  power  to 
trouble  you  nor  to  rejoice  you  more.     You  will 
laugh  no  more,  neither  will  you  weep. — I  see  you 
look  up  doubtfully,  as  though  you  found  me  too 
hard,  too  cold.     Nevertheless,  when  you  are  some- 
what further  advanced  you  will  realize  that  this  it 
means,  to  be  in  perfect  sympathy  with  Tao.    Then, 
looking  upon  '  pain,'  you  will  know  that  one  day 
it  must  disappear,  because  it  is  unreal ;  and  looking 
upon  '  joy,'  you  will  understand  that  it  is  but  a 
primitive  and  shadowy  joy,  dependent  upon  time 
and  circumstance,  and  deriving  its  apparent  exist- 
ence from  contrast  with  pain.     Looking  upon  a 
goodly  man,  you  will  find  it  wholly  natural  that  he 
should  be  as  he  is,  and  will  experience  a  foreshadow- 
ing of  how  much  goodlier  he  will  be  in  that  day  when 
he  shall  no  longer  represent  the  '  kind  '  and  '  good.' 
And  upon  a  murderer  you  will  look  with  all  calmness, 
with  neither  special  love  nor  special  hate  ;  for  he  is 


TAG  17 

your  fellow  in  Tao,  and  all  his  sin  is  powerless  to 
annihilate  Tao  within  him.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
when  you  are  Wu-Wei  at  last — not,  in  the  common 
human  sense,  existing — then  all  will  be  well  with 
you,  and  you  will  glide  through  your  life  as  quietly 
and  naturally  as  the  great  sea  before  us.  Naught 
will  ruffle  your  peace.  Your  sleep  will  be  dream- 
less, and  consciousness  of  self  will  bring  no  care.8 
You  will  see  Tao  in  all  things,  be  one  with  all  ex- 
istence, and  look  round  on  the  whole  of  nature  as 
on  something  with  which  you  are  intimate  as  with 
yourself.  And  passing  with  calm  acceptance  through 
the  changes  of  day  and  night,  summer  and  winter, 
life  and  death,  you  will  one  day  enter  into  Tao,  where 
there  is  no  more  change,  and  whence  you  issued  once 
as  pure  as  you  now  return." 

"  Father,  what  you  say  is  clear — and  compels 
belief.  But  life  is  still  so  dear  to  me,  and  I  am  afraid 
of  death  ;  I  am  afraid  too  lest  my  friends  should  die, 
or  my  wife,  or  my  child  !  Death  seems  to  me  so 
black  and  gloomy — and  life  is  bright — bright — with 
the  sun,  and  the  green  and  flowery  earth  !  " 

"  That  is  because  you  fail  as  yet  to  feel  the  perfect 
naturalness  of  death,  which  is  equal  in  reality  to 
that  of  life.  You  think  too  much  of  the  insignificant 
body,  and  the  deep  grave  in  which  it  must  lie  ;  but 
that  is  the  feeling  of  a  prisoner  about  to  be  freed, 
who  is  troubled  at  the  thought  of  leaving  the  dark 
cell  where  he  has  lived  so  long.  You  see  death  in 
contrast  to  life ;  and  both  are  unreal — both  are 

c 


i8  WU  WEI 

a  changing  and  a  seeming.  Your  soul  does  but 
glide  out  of  a  familiar  sea  into  an  unfamiliar  ocean. 
That  which  is  real  in  you,  your  soul,  can  never  pass 
away,  and  this  fear  is  no  part  of  her.  You  must 
conquer  this  fear  for  ever ;  or,  better  still,  it  will 
happen  when  you  are  older,  and  have  lived  spon- 
taneously, naturally,  following  the  motions  of  Tao, 
that  you  will  of  your  own  accord  cease  to  feel  it.  ... 
Neither  will  you  then  mourn  for  those  who  have 
gone  home  before  you ;  with  whom  you  will  one 
day  be  reunited — not  knowing,  yourself,  that  you 
are  reunited  to  them,  because  these  contrasts  will 
no  longer  be  apparent  to  you  .  .  . 

"...  It  came  to  pass  once  upon  a  time  that 
Chuang-Tse's  wife  died,  and  the  widower  was  found 
by  Hui-Tse  sitting  calmly  upon  the  ground,  passing 
the  time,  as  was  his  wont,  in  beating  upon  a  gong. 
When  Hui-Tse  rallied  him  upon  the  seeming  indiffer- 
ence of  his  conduct,  Chuang-Tse  replied  : 

"  '  Thy  way  of  regarding  things  is  unnatural.  At 
first,  it  is  true,  I  was  troubled — I  could  not  be 
otherwise.  But  after  some  pondering  I  reflected 
that  originally  she  was  not  of  this  life,  being  not  only 
not  born,  but  without  form  altogether  ;  and  that  into 
this  formlessness  no  life-germ  had  as  yet  penetrated. 
That  nevertheless,  as  in  a  sun-warmed  furrow,  life- 
energy  then  began  to  stir ;  out  of  life-energy  grew 
form,  and  form  became  birth.  To-day  another 
change  has  completed  itself,  and  she  has  died.  This 
resembles  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  four  seasons  : 


TAG  19 

spring,  autumn,  winter,  summer.  She  sleeps  calmly 
in  the  Great  House.  Were  I  now  to  weep  and  wail, 
it  Vere  to  act  as  though  the  soul  of  all  this  had  not 
entered  into  me, — therefore  I  do  it  no  more.'  " 9 

This  he  told  in  a  simple,  unaffected  manner  that 
showed  how  natural  it  appeared  to  him.  But  it  was 
not  yet  clear  to  me,  and  I  said  : 

"  I  find  this  wisdom  terrible  ;  it  almost  makes  me 
afraid.  Life  would  seem  to  me  so  cold  and  empty, 
were  I  as  wise  as  this." 

"  Life  is  cold  and  empty,"  he  answered,  quietly, 
but  with  no  trace  of  contempt  in  his  tone  ; — "  and 
men  are  as  deceptive  as  life  itself.  There  is  not 
one  who  knows  himself,  not  one  who  knows  his 
fellows ;  and  yet  they  are  all  alike.  There  is,  in  fact, 
no  such  thing  as  life ;  it  is  unreal." 

I  could  say  no  more,  and  stared  before  me  into 
the  twilight.  The  mountains  were  sleeping  peace- 
fully in  the  tender,  bloom-like  shimmer  of  vague 
night-mists — lying  lowly,  like  children,  beneath  the 
broad  heavens.  Below  us  was  an  indistinct  twink- 
ling of  little  red  lights.  From  the  distance  rose  a  sad 
monotonous  song,  the  wail  of  a  flute  accompanying 
it.  In  the  depths  of  the  darkness  lay  the  sea  in  its 
majesty,  and  the  sound  of  infinitude  swelled  far 
and  wide. 

Then  there  arose  in  me  a  great  sadness,  and  my 
eyes  filled,  as  with  passionate  insistence  I  asked  him  : 

"  And  what  of  friendship,  then  ? — and  what  of 
love  ?  "— 


20  WU  WEI 

He  looked  at  me.  I  could  not  see  him  plainly 
in  the  darkness,  but  there  shone  from  his  eyes  a  curi- 
ous soft  light,  and  he  answered  gently  : 

"  These  are  the  best  things  in  life,  by  very  far. 
They  are  one  with  the  first  stirring  of  Tao  within 
you.  But  one  day  you  will  know  of  them  as  little  as 
the  stream  knows  of  its  banks  when  it  is  lost  in  the 
endless  ocean.  Think  not  that  I  would  teach  you 
to  banish  love  from  your  heart ;  for  that  would 
be  to  go  against  Tao.  Love  what  you  love,  and  be 
not  misled  by  the  thought  that  love  is  a  hindrance 
which  holds  you  in  bondage.  To  banish  love  from 
your  heart  would  be  a  mad  and  earthly  action,  and 
would  put  you  further  away  from  Tao  than  you  have 
ever  been.  I  say  only,  that  love  will  one  day  vanish 
of  itself  without  your  knowing,  and  that  Tao  is  not 
Love.  But  forget  not,  that — so  far  as  I  desire  it, 
and  so  far  as  it  is  good  for  you — I  am  speaking  to 
you  of  the  very  highest  things.  Were  I  only  speak- 
ing of  this  life  and  of  men,  I  should  say  :  Love  is  the 
highest  of  all.  But  for  him  who  is  absorbed  again 
into  Tao,  love  is  a  thing  past  and  forgotten. 

"  Now,  it  has  grown  late,  and  I  would  not  impart 
too  much  to  you  at  first.  You  will  surely  desire 
to  sleep  within  the  Temple,  and  I  will  prepare  your 
couch.  Come  with  me — and  descend  the  mountain 
with  all  caution  !  " 

He  lit  a  little  light,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  lead 
me.  Slowly  we  proceeded,  step  by  step.  He  was 
as  careful  of  me  as  though  I  had  been  his  child  i  he 


TAG  21 

lighted  my  path  at  every  steep  descent,  and  led  me 
gently  forward,  taking  heed  of  all  my  movements. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  foot,  he  showed  me  the 
little  guest-chamber  set  apart  for  mandarins, 10  and 
fetched  pillow  and  covering  for  me. 

"I  thank  you,  Father,  from  my  heart!  "  I  said. 
"  When  shall  I  ever  be  able  to  show  my  gratitude  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  quietly,  and  the  glance  was  great, 
like  the  sea.  Calm  he  was,  and  gentle  as  night. 
He  smiled  at  me,  and  it  was  like  the  light  laughing 
upon  the  earth.  And  silently  he  left  me. 


ART 


w 


We  were  sitting  upon  the  mountain-side, 
in  the  shadow  of  an  overhanging  rock.  Before  us 
stretched  the  sea — one  endless  gleam  of  light  in  the 
sunshine.  Golden  sails  were  driving  quietly  over  it, 
and  white  seagulls  sweeping  in  noble  curvings  lightly 
hither  and  thither,  while  great,  snow-pure  clouds 
came  up  and  sailed  by  in  the  blue,  majestic  in  pro- 
gress, steady  and  slow. 

"It  is  as  natural  as  the  sea — the  birds — the 
clouds,"  he  answered.  "  I  do  not  think  you  will 
find  this  so  hard  to  grasp  and  feel  as  Tao.  You 
have  only  to  look  around  you — earth,  clouds,  atmos- 
phere, everything  will  teach  it  you.  Poetry  has 
existed  as  long  as  heaven  and  earth.11 

"  Beauty  was  born  with  the  heavens  and  the 
earth.  The  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  red  mists  of 
morning  and  evening  illumine  each  other,  and  yet — 
inexhaustible  and  wonderful  as  are  the  changes 
presented  by  them — Nature's  great  phenomena — 


25 


26  WU  WEI 

there  exist  no  pigments,  as  for  garments,  to  dye 
them  withal.  All  phenomena  of  the  world  bring 
forth  sound  when  set  in  motion,  and  every  sound 
implies  some  motion  which  has  caused  it.  The 
greatest  of  all  sounds  are  wind  and  thunder. 

"  Listen  to  the  mountain  stream  racing  over  the 
rocks  !  As  soon  as  it  is  set  in  motion  the  sound  of 
it — high  or  low,  short  or  long — makes  itself  heard, 
not  actually  according  to  the  laws  of  music,  it  is 
true,  yet  having  a  certain  rhythm  and  system. 

"  This  is  the  spontaneous  voice  of  heaven  and 
earth  ;  the  voice  that  is  caused  by  movement. 

"  Well !  In  the  purest  state  of  the  human  heart 
— when  the  fire  of  the  spirit  is  at  its  brightest — then, 
if  it  be  moved,  that  too  will  give  forth  sound.  Is  it 
not  a  wondrous  metamorphosis  that  out  of  this  a 
literature  should  be  created  ?  " 

"  So  Poetry  is  the  sound  of  the  heart  ?  " 

"  You  will  feel  how  natural  this  is.  Poetry  is  to 
be  heard  and  seen  everywhere,  for  the  whole  of 
Nature  is  one  great  poet.  But  just  because  of  its 
simplicity,  therefore  is  it  so  strict  and  unalterable. 
Where  the  spring  of  movement  is,  there  flows  the 
sound  of  the  poem.  Any  other  sound  is  no 
poetry.  The  sound  must  come  quite  of  itself — Wu 
Wei — it  cannot  be  generated  by  any  artifices.  There 
are  many — how  many  ! — who  by  unnatural  move- 
ment force  forth  sound ;  but  these  are  no  poets — 
rather  do  they  resemble  apes  and  parrots.  Few 
indeed  are  the  true  poets.  From  these  the  verse 


ART  27 

flows  of  itself,  full  of  music, — powerful  as  the  roaring 
of  the  torrent  amongst  the  rocks,  as  the  rolling  of 
thunder  in  the  clouds, — soft  as  the  swishing  of  an 
evening  shower,  or  the  gentle  breath  of  a  summer 
night-breeze. — Hark  !  hark  to  the  sea  at  our  feet ! 
Is  it  not  singing  a  wondrous  song  ?  Is  it  not  a 
very  poem  ? — is  it  not  pure  music  ?  See  how  the 
waves  sway,  in  ceaseless  mobility — one  after  the 
other — one  over  the  other — swinging  onward  and 
onward — ever  further  and  further — returning  to 
vanish  in  music  once  more  !  Dost  thou  hear  their 
rhythmic  rushing  ?  Oh  !  great  and  simple  must  a 
poet  be — like  the  sea  !  His  movement,  like  that 
of  the  sea,  is  an  impulse  out  of  Tao,  and  in  that — 
tranquil,  strifeless,  obedient  as  a  child — must  he  let 
himself  go.  Great,  great  is  the  sea.  Great,  great  is 
the  poet.  But  greater — greater — is  Tao,  that  which 
is  not  great !  " 

He  was  silent,  listening  to  the  sea,  and  I  saw  how 
the  music  of  it  entered  into  him. 

I  had  reflected  much  since  hearing  his  first  words 
concerning  Tao.  I  was  fearful  lest  his  great  and 
lofty  philosophy  should  mean  death  to  the  artist, 
and  that  I  also,  in  giving  myself  over  to  this  wisdom 
of  his,  should  become  incapable  of  feeling  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  poet,  and  of  being  any  more  childishly 
enraptured  at  the  sight  of  beauty. 

But  he  himself  was  standing  there  in  the  purest 
ecstasy,  as  though  he  were  now  looking  upon  the 
sea  for  the  first  time  ;  and  reverently,  with  shining 


28  WU  WEI 

eyes,  he  listened  to  the  rush  of  the  waves.  "Is  it 
not  beautiful  ?  "  he  said  again,  "  is  it  not  beautiful, 
— this  sound,  that  came  out  of  Tao,  the  soundless  ? — 
this  light,  that  shone  out  of  Tao,  the  lightless  ?  and 
the  word-music  :  verse,  born  of  Tao  the  wordless  ?  Do 
we  not  live  in  an  endless  mystery  ? — resolving  one 
day  into  absolute  truth  !  " 

I  was  a  long  time  silent.  But  its  very  simplicity 
was  hard  for  me  to  grasp.  And  I  asked  him  doubt- 
fully :  "  Can  it  really  be  so  easy — to  make  and 
sing  poems  ?  It  is  surely  not  so  easy  for  us  to  bring 
forth  verse  as  for  the  stream  to  rush  over  the  rocks  ? 
Must  we  not  first  practise  and  train  ourselves,  and 
learn  to  know  the  verse-forms  thoroughly  ?  And  is 
not  that  voluntary  action,  rather  than  involuntary 
motion  ?  " 

My  question  did  not  embarrass  him,  and  he  an- 
swered at  once : — 

"  Do  not  let  that  perplex  you.  All  depends  on 
whether  a  man  has  in  him  the  true  spring  from 
which  the  verse  should  flow,  or  not.  Has  he  the  pure 
impulse  from  Tao  within  him  ?  or  is  his  life-motive 
something  less  simply  beautiful  ?  If  he  has  that 
source  in  him  he  is  a  poet,  if  he  has  it  not  he  is  none. 
By  this  time  you  surely  realize  that,  considered 
from  a  high  standpoint,  all  men  are  really  poets ; 
for,  as  I  have  told  you,  there  exists  in  all  men  the 
essential,  original  impulse  emanating  from  and 
returning  to  Tao.  But  rarely  do  we  find  this  im- 
pulse, alert  and  strongly  developed — rarely  are 


ART  29 

men  endowed  with  perception  of  the  higher  revela- 
tions of  beauty,  through  which  their  bank-bound 
life-stream  flows  till  lost  in  boundless  eternity. 
One  might  express  it  thus :  that  ordinary  men 
are  like  still  water  in  swampy  ground,  in  the 
midst  of  poor  vegetation ;  while  poets  are  clear 
streams,  flowing  amidst  the  splendour  of  luxuriant 
banks  to  the  endless  ocean.  But  I  would  rather  not 
speak  so  much  in  symbols,  for  that  is  not  plain  enough. 
"  You  would  fain  know  whether  a  man  who  has 
the  true  inspiration  of  the  poet  must  not  neverthe- 
less train  himself  somewhat  in  his  art,  or  whether 
he  moves  in  it  entirely  of  himself,  like  nature  ? — 
The  latter  is  without  doubt  the  case  !  For  a  young 
poet,  having  studied  verse-form  in  all  its  variety  for 
but  a  short  time,  suddenly  comes  to  find  these  forms 
so  natural  as  to  preclude  his  inclination  for  any  other. 
His  verse  assumes  beautiful  form  involuntarily, 
simply  because  other  movement  would  be  alien. 
That  is  just  the  difference  between  the  poet  and  the 
dilettante  :  that  -the  poet  sings  his  verse  spontane- 
ously, from  his  own  impulse,  and  afterwards,  proving 
it,  finds  it  to  be  right  in  sound — in  rhythm — in  all  its 
movement ;  whereas  the  dilettante,  after  first  mark- 
ing out  for  himself  a  certain  verse-form,  according  to 
the  approved  pattern  of  the  art-learned,  proceeds 
to  project  by  main  force  a  series  of  wholly  soulless 
words  upon  it.  The  soulful  words  of  the  poet  flowed 
of  themselves  just  because  they  were  soulful.  And, 
if  we  view  things  in  their  true  light,  there  do  actu- 


30  WU  WEI 

ally  exist  no  hard  and  fast  forms  for  poetry,  and 
absolutely  no  laws ;  for  a  verse  which  flows  spon- 
taneously from  its  source  moves  of  itself,  and  is 
independent  of  all  preconceived  human  standards  ! 
The  one  law  is  that  there  shall  be  no  law.  Mayhap 
you  will  find  this  over-daring,  young  man  !  But 
remember  that  my  demonstrations  are  taken  not 
from  men,  but  out  of  Tao,  and  that  I  know,  moreover, 
but  very  few  true  poets.  The  man  who  is  simple 
and  pure  as  Nature  is  rare  indeed.  Think  you  that 
there  are  many  such  in  your  own  land  ?  " 

This  unexpected  question  embarrassed  me,  and  I 
wondered  what  could  be  his  drift.  It  was  hard  to 
answer,  too,  so  I  asked  him  first  another  question  : 

"  Great  Master,  I  cannot  answer  until  I  hear  more 
from  you.  Why  does  a  poet  make  a  poem  ?  " 

That  seemed  to  astonish  him  mightily,  for  he 
repeated  it,  as  though  doubting  if  he  had  heard 
aright : 

"  Why  does  a  poet  make  a  poem  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master,  why  ?  " 

Then  he  laughed  outright,  and  said  : 

"  Why  does  the  sea  roar  ?  Why  does  the  bird 
sing  ?  Do  you  know  that,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Because  they  cannot  help  it,  Father,  because 
they  simply  must  give  their  nature  vent  in  that  way  ! 
It  is  Wu  Wei !  " 

"  Quite  so  !  Well, — and  why  should  it  be  differ- 
ent with  a  poet  ?  " 

I  considered,  and  my  answer  came  none  too  readily : 


ART  31 

"  Yes,  but  it  may  be  different.  A  poet  may  sing 
for  the  sake  of  creating  or  enriching  a  literature, 
where  there  is  none,  or  it  is  in  danger  of  dying  out. 
That  has  a  fine  sound,  but  is  no  pure  motive.  Or 
some  poets  sing  in  order  to  cover  themselves  with 
glory — to  be  famous,  to  be  crowned  with  shining 
laurels,  and  to  gain  smiles  from  the  fair,  bright- 
eyed  maidens  strewing  flowers  on  the  path  before 
them  !  " 

"  You  must  express  yourself  with  greater  exact- 
ness," said  the  hermit,  "  and  not  desecrate  words 
which  thousands  hold  sacred.  For  poets  who  sing 
for  such  reasons  are  no  poets  at  all.  A  poet  sings 
because  he  sings.  He  cannot  sing  with  any  given 
purpose,  or  he  becomes  a  dilettante." 

"  Then,  Father,  supposing  a  poet  to  have  sung  as 
simply  as  a  bird,  may  he  afterwards  take  pleasure  in 
the  laurels  and  the  roses  ?  May  he  jealously  hate 
those  who  wear  the  laurels  of  which  he  deems  himself 
worthy  ?  or  can  he  belie  his  soul's  convictions,  and 
call  beauty  ugly,  despising  the  beauty  which  he  has 
created  ? — Can  he  call  the  beautiful  hateful,  be- 
cause the  laurels  come  from  unwelcome  hands  ? — 
Can  he  drape  himself  in  a  false  garb,  and  elect  to  act 
differently  from  other  men,  in  order  to  gain  promin- 
ence through  eccentricity  ? — Can  he  deem  himself 
better  than  the  common  run  of  men  ? — Should  he 
press  the  common  hands  which  applaud  him  ?  — 
May  he  hate  them  who  deride  instead  of  honouring 
him  ? — How  can  you  interpret  to  me  all  these  things  ? 


32  WU  WEI 

They  all  appear  so  strange  to   me,  in  comparison 
with  the  little  bird  and  the  great  sea  !  " 

"  All  these  questions,  young  friend,  are  an  answer 
to  my  question,"  he  replied  ;  "for  the  fact  that  you 
would  know  all  this  is  a  proof  that  there  are  not  many 
poets  in  your  country.  Remember  that  I  understand 
and  use  the  word  '  poet '  in  its  purest,  highest  mean- 
ing. A  poet  can  only  live  for  his  art,  which  he  loves 
for  itself,  and  not  as  a  means  for  securing  fleeting 
earthly  pleasures.  A  poet  looks  upon  men  and  things 
— in  their  nature  and  relationship — so  simply,  that 
he  himself  approaches  very  nearly  to  the  nature 
of  Tao.  Other  men  see  men  and  things  hazily,  as 
through  a  fog.  The  poet  realizes  this  to  be  an  incon- 
testable fact.  How  then  can  he  expect  his  simplicity, 
to  be  understood — by  this  hazy  mind  of  the  public  ? 
How  can  he  cherish  feelings  of  hate  and  grief  when 
it  ridicules  him  ?  How  feel  pleasure  when  it  would 
do  him  honour  ?  It  is  the  same  in  this  case  as  with 
the  four  '  seasons '  of  Chuang-Tse.  There  is  nothing 
specially  agitating  in  it  all,  because  it  is  the  natural 
course  of  things.  Consequently  the  poet  is  neither 
in  despair  when  he  is  not  heard,  nor  happy  when 
he  is  feted.  He  looks  upon  the  state  of  things  with 
regard  to  the  multitude  and  the  way  it  comports 
itself  towards  him  as  a  natural  consequence,  of  which 
he  knows  the  cause.  The  judgment  of  the  common 
people  is  not  even  so  much  as  indifferent  to  him — 
it  simply  does  not  exist  for  him.  He  does  not  sing 
his  verses  for  the  sake  of  the  people,  but  because  he 


ART  33 

cannot  help  himself.  The  sound  of  human  com- 
ment on  his  work  escapes  him  entirely,  and  he  knows 
not  whether  he  be  famous  or  forgotten.  '  The  highest 
fame  is  no  fame.'  *)  You  look  at  me,  young  man, 
as  though  I  were  telling  stranger  things  than  you 
have  ever  dared  to  dream.  But  I  am  telling  nothing 
but  the  plainest  truth,  simple  and  natural  as  the 
truth  in  landscape  or  sea.  Having  dwelt  until  so 
lately  mid  the  strenuous  life  of  your  countrymen, 
you  have  never  yet  seen  true  simplicity.  For  so 
long  you  have  heard  nothing  spoken  of  but  '  fame,' 
'  earnings/  '  honour,'  '  artists'  and  '  immortality/ 
that,  for  all  you  know,  these  things  may  be  indispens- 
able as  air,  and  veritable  as  your  soul.  But  it  is  all 
a  seeming  and  deception.  Those  whom  you  have 
seen  may  indeed  have  been  poets  of  true  fibre,  but 
they  had  been  led  astray  from  the  impulse  derived 
from  Tao  which  was  their  life-principle,  and  they 
did  not  remain  what  they  were,  but  sank  through 
their  weakness  to  the  nature  of  commonplace  men. 
So  that  they  have  come  to  do  as  ordinary  men  do, 
only  they  do  it  more  strongly.  So  much  do  I  gather 
from  your  questioning.  But  all  these  are  poets  no 
longer,  and  will  sing  no  more  true  poetry  so  long  as 
they  remain  as  they  are.  For  the  smallest  deviation 
from  the  original  impulse  is  sufficient  to  kill  the  poetry 
within  them.  There  is  but  the  one  direct  way : 
single  and  simple  as  a  maiden — uncompromising  as 

*  From  the  "  Nan  Hwa  King,"  chap,  xviii. 

D 


34  WU   WEI 

a  straight  line.  This  straight  line  is  spontaneity ; 
on  either  side  of  it  lie  false  activity  and  the  un- 
natural— also  the  roads  to  fame  and  notoriety,  where 
occur  murder,  and  sudden  death,  and  where  one 
bosom  friend  will  suck  the  life-blood  from  another 
to  further  the  attainment  of  his  own  ends.  The 
straight  line  cuts  its  own  way,  without  deviation  or 
secret  windings,  in  simple  continuance  into  infinity. 

"  You  understand  then,  that  thus,  by  the  nature 
of  things,  all  those  situations  which  would  convert 
the  poet  into  the  sacrificial  victim  of  the  mob  be- 
come impossible.  You  have  probably  read,  in  the 
history  alike  of  your  country  and  my  own,  of  poets 
who  have  died  of  grief  at  want  of  recognition,  or  who 
have  taken  their  own  lives  on  account  of  undeserved 
contumely.  I  have  indeed  always  felt  the  pathos 
of  this,  yet  have  realized  that  to  such  poets  as  these 
the  term  truly  great  cannot  be  applied. 

"  And  I  am  speaking,  of  course,  not  of  the  artists 
of  speech  only,  but  of  all  artists.  Shall  I  show  you 
now  something  by  an  artist  as  true  and  simple- 
minded  as  I  can  conceive  a  man  to  be  ? — Come 
with  me  then  !  " 

He  led  me  into  a  small  chamber  in  his  hut — 
a  cell  with  white  walls  and  no  furniture  save  the 
bed,  a  table  covered  with  books,  and  a  few  chairs. 
He  opened  a  door  in  the  wall,  and  drew  out  from 
it  a  wooden  chest.  This  he  carried  as  carefully  as 
though  it  had  been  some  sacred  object  or  a  little 
child,  He  set  it  gently  down  upon  the  floor,  opened 


ART  35 

the  lid,  and  lifted  out  a  closed  shrine  of  red-brown 
wood,  which  he  placed  upon  the  table.  12 

"  See,"  he  remarked,  "  this  is  a  beautiful  shrine, 
to  begin  with.  A  beautiful  thing  must  have  a 
beautiful  setting.  At  present  the  little  doors  are 
shut.  Do  you  not  find  this  a  goodly  idea  :  to  be 
able  ever  thus  to  hold  it  hidden  from  profane 
eyes  ? — But  before  you  I  may  well  open  it." 

And  the  two  wings  of  the  shrine  flew  apart. 

Against  a  background  of  pale  blue  silk  appeared 
a  large  figure,  gleaming,  and  shimmering,  and  dif- 
fusing a  wonderful  radiance  of  its  own.  It  was  the 
Buddha  Kwan  Yin,  seated  upon  a  lotus  that  reared 
itself,  straight,  and  graceful,  and  modestly  opened, 
above  a  tumult  of  wild  waves. 13 

"  Do  you  perceive  the  utter  simplicity  and  beauty 
of  this  ?  "  he  asked  me  ;  and  in  his  voice  there 
spoke  a  great  and  tender  love.  "  Is  not  this  the 
very  embodiment  of  perfect  rest  ? — How  serene  is  the 
countenance — how  wonderfully  tender,  and  yet  how 
tensely  grave,  with  its  closed  eyes  gazing  into  infinity ! 
— See — the  cheek, — how  delicate  and  tender  !  See 
— the  mouth — and  the  lofty  curving  of  the  eye- 
brows— and  the  pure  pearl  gleaming  above  her 
forehead 14 — symbol  of  a  soul  taking  its  flight 
from  the  body  !  And  the  body — how  few  are  the 
lines  of  it !  Yet  see  :  what  infinite  love  and  merci- 
fulness in  the  downward  pose  of  the  left  arm  ; 
and  in  the  uplifted  right  arm — with  two  raised 
fingers,  held  together  as  in  the  act  of  preaching — 


36  WU  WEI 

what  an  indescribable  holiness  !  And  how  beauti- 
ful the  repose  of  the  crossed  legs  resting  so  softly 
upon  the  lotus  ! — And  see — how  tenderly  felt,  not- 
withstanding the  immense  strength  and  restraint 
of  the  whole — the  delicate  soles  of  the  feet,  curved 
with  such  subtle  gentleness ! — Is  it  not  the  quint- 
essence of  the  whole  of  Buddhism  in  a  single  pic- 
ture ?  You  need  not  to  have  read  anything  of 
Buddhism  in  order  to  appreciate  it  now,  here,  in 
all  its  inmost  meaning.  Rest — is  it  not  absolute 
rest — this  ideally  pure  countenance  gazing  thus 
stilly  into  eternity  ?  Love — is  it  not  absolute  love 
for  the  world — this  simple  drooping  of  the  arm  ? 
And  is  not  the  essence  of  the  whole  doctrine  grasped 
and  confined  in  the  pose  of  the  uplifted  fingers  ? 

"  And  then — the  material  of  which  such  a  figure  as 
this  is  made  !  Do  you  realize,  I  wonder,  that  an 
artist  such  as  this  must  have  laboured  for  years 
and  years  before  his  material  became  as  pure  and 
ethereal  as  he  required  it  to  be  ?  For  the  nature 
of  stone  is  so  hard — is  it  not  ? — and  the  general 
idea  of  it :  matter — that  would  suit  but  ill  for  the 
plastic  representation  of  the  ideal  conception  :  Rest. 
— So  the  artist  wrought  upon  all  kinds  of  common 
materials  such  as  clay,  sand,  and  earth,  and  trans- 
formed them,  by  means  of  fit  and  harmonious  com- 
bination with  precious  stones,  pearls,  and  jasper, 
into  costly  substances.  And  so  the  material  for 
this  figure  became  something  that  was  no  longer 
material,  but  rather  the  incarnation  of  a  sublime 


ART  37 

idea.  The  artist  wished  to  symbolize  also  in  his 
representation  the  rosy  dawn  which  broke  upon 
mankind  on  the  appearance  of  Buddha ;  and  so, 
shimmering  through  the  snowy  white  of  his  porce- 
lain, he  introduced  just  such  a  vague  rosy  glow  as 
plays  upon  the  morning  clouds  before  the  glory  of 
the  sun  bursts  forth.  Is  not  this  half-realized,  grow- 
ing light  more  instinct  with  feeling  than  light  itself  ? 
Can  you  perceive  this  most  indefinite,  yet  clear  and 
rosy  colour  shimmering  throughout  the  white  ?  Is 
it  not  chaste  as  the  first  soft  blush  of  a  maiden  ? 
Is  it  not  the  godly  love  of  the  artist  which  thus  glows 
in  the  pureness  of  the  white  ?  Such  a  figure  is, 
in  fact,  no  longer  a  figure.  The  idea  of  material  is 
entirely  obliterated  ;  it  is  an  inspiration." 

For  a  long  time  I  was  too  much  moved  to  speak. 
More  strongly  yet  than  the  pure  wisdom  of  the  old 
man,  did  the  beauty  of  this  art  take  hold  upon  and 
purify  my  soul.  At  last  I  asked  gently  : 

"  Who  has  created  this  marvel  ?  I  would  fain 
know,  that  I  may  hold  his  name  with  yours  in  vener- 
ation." 

"  That  is  of  little  importance,  my  young  friend  !  " 
he  answered.  "  The  soul  that  was  in  this  artist  is 
absorbed  again  into  Tao,  just  as  yours  will  be  one 
day.  His  body  has  fallen  away,  like  the  leaves 
from  a  tree,  just  as  yours  in  time  will  fall  away. 
What  weight  can  attach  then  to  his  name  ?  Never- 
theless, I  will  tell  it  you  ;  he  was  called  Tan  Wei,16 
and  he  engraved  this  name  in  finely-devised  cha- 


38  WU  WEI 

racters  upon  the  back  of  the  figure,  such  being  the 
custom  at  that  time. — Who  was  he  ?  A  common 
workman,  surely,  who  did  not  even  know,  him.' 
self,  that  he  was  an  artist ;  who  seemed  to  himself 
nothing  more  than  a  common  peasant,  and  who 
had  not  the  least  suspicion  that  his  work  was  so 
beautiful.  But  he  must  have  gazed  much  at  the 
heavens  and  clouds  above  him,  and  have  loved  the 
wide  seas,  and  the  landscapes,  and  the  flowers ; 
otherwise  he  could  not  have  been  so  fine  in  feeling  ; 
for  such  simple  lines  and  pure  colours  are  only  to 
be  found  in  Nature.  He  was  certainly  not  cele- 
brated ;  you  will  not  find  his  name  in  any  history. 
I  could  not  tell  you  whence  he  came,  how  he 
lived,  or  to  what  age.  I  know  only  that  it  is  more 
than  four  hundred  years  since  such  figures  as  these 
were  made,  and  that  connoisseurs  reckon  that 
this  one  dates  from  the  first  half  of  the  Ming- 
Dynasty.  Most  probably  the  artist  lived  quite 
quietly  the  same  sort  of  life  as  the  other  people, 
worked  industriously  as  a  common  labourer,  and 
died  humbly,  unconscious  of  his  own  greatness. 
But  his  work  remained,  and  this  image,  which  by  a 
fortunate  chance  has  found  its  way  to  this  district, 
where  the  last  wars  never  raged,  is  still  the  same 
as  when  he  made  it.  And  thus  it  may  last  on 
for  centuries  and  centuries,  in  inextinguishable  ra- 
diance, in  maidenly  majesty.  O,  to  create  such 
a  thing,  in  pure,  unconscious  simplicity — that  is  to 
be  a  poet !  That  is  the  art  which  dates  not  from 


ART  39 

time  but  from  eternity  ! — How  beautiful  it  is ! 
Do  you  not  find  it  so  too  ?  This  porcelain,  that 
is  almost  indestructible ;  this  radiance,  which  never 
dies  away  !  Here  upon  the  earth  it  stands,  so  strong 
and  yet  so  tender,  and  so  it  will  still  be,  long  after 
our  successors  are  dead ! — And  the  soul  of  the 
artist  is  with  Tao  !  " 

We  continued  long  to  look  upon  the  image. 
Then  he  took  careful  hold  of  the  shrine  once  more- 

"  It  is  so  delicate,"  he  said,  "  that  I  hardly  dare 
to  expose  it  to  broad  daylight.  For  this  miracle 
of  tenderness — ethereal  as  a  soul — the  daylight  is 
too  hard.  I  feel  a  kind  of  anxiety  lest  the  light 
should  suddenly  break  it  in  pieces;  or  cause  it  to 
dissolve  like  a  little  light  cloud — so  wholly  soul- 
like  is  its  composition  !  " 

And  softly,  very  softly,  he  replaced  the  shrine 
within  the  chest,  which  he  closed. 

He  went  out  now,  before  me,  and  we  seated 
ourselves  again  beneath  the  overhanging  rock. 

"  How  beautiful  it  would  be,"  I  said,  "  if  everyone 
could  make  things  like  that,  in  all  simplicity,  and 
surround  themselves  with  them,  everywhere  !  " 

"Every  one  !  "  he  answered  ;  "well,  that  is  per- 
haps too  much  to  expect !  But  there  really  was  once 
a  time  when  this  great  kingdom  was  one  great  temple 
of  art  and  beauty.  You  may  still  see  the  traces 
of  it  here  in  China.  At  that  time  the  greater 
number  of  the  people  were  simple-minded  artists. 
All  objects  surrounding  them  were  beautiful,  the 


40  WU  WEI 

smallest  thing  as  well  as  the  greatest — whether  it 
were  a  temple,  a  garden,  a  table,  a  chair,  or  a  knife. 
Just  examine  the  little  tea-cups,  or  the  smallest 
censers  of  that  period  !  The  poorest  coolie  ate  out 
of  vessels  as  perfect  in  then:  way  as  my  Kwan-Yin 
image.  All  objects  were  beautifully  made,  and 
involuntarily  so.  The  simple  artisans  did  not  con- 
sider themselves  '  artists/  or  in  any  way  different 
from  their  fellow-men,  and  no  petty  strife  can  have 
arisen  between  them,  otherwise  there  would  have 
been  an  end  of  their  art.  Everything  was  beauti- 
ful because  they  were  all  single-minded  and  worked 
honestly.  It  was  as  natural  in  those  days  for  things 
to  be  beautiful  as  it  is  now-a-days  for  them  to  be  ugly. 
The  art  of  China  has  sunk  to  its  lowest  ebb  ;  that  is  a 
consequence  of  its  miserable  social  condition.  You 
have  surely  remarked  that  the  art  of  the  country 
is  deteriorating.  And  that  is  a  death-sign  for  this 
great  Empire.  For  Art  is  inseparably  connected 
with  the  full-bloom  of  a  country's  life.  If  the  art 
declines,  then  the  whole  country  degenerates.  I  do 
not  mean  this  in  the  political,  but  rather  in  the 
moral  sense.  For  a  morally-strong  and  simple- 
hearted  people  brings  forth  involuntarily  a  strong 
and  healthy  art. — Yes,  what  you  said  is  true ; 
how  much  better  would  men's  lives  be,  could  they 
but  create  for  themselves  better  surroundings ! 
And  how  extraordinary  that  this  is  not  done  !  For 
Nature  remains  ever  and  everywhere  accessible  to 
them.  See  the  clouds — the  trees — the  sea  !  " 


ART  41 

The  sea  was  still,  as  ever,  splashing  at  our  feet — 
boundless  and  pure.  Clouds  sailed  majestically  land- 
wards, with  a  slow  motion,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the 
light.  Golden  gleams,  falling  upon  the  mountains, 
vanished  again  with  the  rhythmical  sweep  of  the 
clouds.  Light  and  motion,  sound  and  play  of  colour, 
everywhere  ! 

The  hermit  gazed  calmly  and  confidingly  at  this 
infinite  loveliness ;  as  though  deeply  conscious 
of  the  intimate  relationship  existing  between  him 
and  all  his  surroundings.  He  seemed  to  guess  what 
was  in  my  mind  as  I  looked  at  him,  for  he  said  : 

"  We  fit  as  naturally  into  this  beauty  around  us 
as  a  tree  or  a  mountain.  If  we  can  but  remain 
so  always,  we  shall  retain  the  feeling  of  our  own 
well-being  amid  all  the  great  workings  of  the  world- 
system.  So  much  has  been  said  about  human 
life  ;  and  scholars  have  created  such  an  endless  laby- 
rinth of  theories  !  And  yet  in  its  inmost  kernel 
it  is  as  plain  as  Nature.  All  things  are  equal 
in  simplicity,  and  nothing  is  really  in  confusion, 
however  much  it  may  seem  as  though  it  were  so. 
Everything  moves  surely  and  inevitably  as  the 
sea." 

There  rang  in  his  voice  both  the  great  love  of 
the  poet  and  the  quiet  assurance  of  the  scholar 
who  takes  his  stand  upon  incontrovertible  truth. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  for  to-day  ?  "  was  his  friendly 
question  ;  "  and  have  I  helped  you  forward  a  little  ? 
Do  you  feel  more  clearly  what  poetry  is  ?  " 


42  WU  WEI 

"  Father,"  I  answered, "  your  wisdom  is  poetry,  and 
your  poetry  is  wisdom  !  How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  That  is  quite  true,  from  your  point  of  view,"  he 
answered.  "  But  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  all  these 
words  are  but  a  seeming.  I  know  not  what  my 
wisdom  is,  nor  my  poetry.  It  is  all  one.  It  is  so 
simple  and  natural  when  you  understand  this  ! 
It  is  all  Tao." 


LOVE 


CHAPTER   III 

LOVE 

ONCE  more  it  was  evening.  We  sat  again  upon 
the  soft  turf  of  the  mountain-side,  the  quiet- 
ness of  our  mood  in  sympathy  with  the  solemn 
stillness  of  twilight.  The  distant  mountain-ranges 
reposed  in  an  atmosphere  breathing  reverence  and 
devotion — they  seemed  to  be  kneeling  beneath  the 
heavens,  beneath  the  slow-descending  blessing  of 
night.  The  isolated  trees  dotted  here  and  there 
about  the  hills  stood  motionless,  in  a  pause  of  silent 
worshipping.  The  rush  of  the  sea  sounded  distant 
and  indistinct,  lost  in  its  own  greatness.  Peace  lay 
over  everything,  and  soft  sounds  went  up,  as  of 
prayer. 

The  hermit  stood  before  me,  dignified  as  a  tree 
in  the  midst  of  Nature,  and  awe-inspiring  as  the 
evening  itself. 

I  had  returned  to  question  him  again.  For  my 
soul  found  no  repose  apart  from  him,  and  a  mighty 
impulse  was  stirring  within  me.  But  now  that  I 

45 


46  WU   WEI 

found  myself  near  him,  I  hardly  dared  to  speak  ;•  and 
indeed  it  seemed  as  though  words  were  no  longer 
necessary — as  though  everything  lay,  of  itself, 
open  and  clear  as  daylight.  How  goodly  and  simple 
everything  appeared  that  evening !  Was  it  not 
my  own  inmost  being  that  I  recognized  in  all  the 
beauty  around  me  ?  and  was  not  the  whole  on  the 
point  of  being  absorbed  into  the  Eternal  ? 

Nevertheless  I  broke  in  upon  this  train  of  feeling, 
and  cleft  the  peaceful  silence  with  my  voice  : 

"  Father,"  I  said  sadly,  "  all  your  words  have  sunk 
into  my  mind,  and  my  soul  is  filled  with  the  balm  of 
them.  This  soul  of  mine  is  no  longer  my  own — 
no  longer  what  I  used  to  be.  It  is  as  though  I  were 
dead :  and  I  know  not  what  is  taking  place  within 
me — by  day  and  by  night — causing  it  to  grow 
so  light,  and  clear,  and  vacant  in  my  mind.  Father, 
I  know  it  is  Tao  ;•  it  is  death,  and  glorious  resur- 
rection ;  but  it  is  not  love  ;  and  without  love,  Tao 
appears  to  me  but  a  gloomy  lie." 

The  old  man  looked  round  him  at  the  evening 
scene,  and  smiled  gently. 

"  What  t's  love  ?  "  he  asked  calmly.  "  Are  you 
sure  about  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 

A  No,  I  am  not  sure,"  I  answered.  "  I  do  not 
know  anything  about  it,  but  that  is  just  the  reason 
of  its  great  blessedness.  Yes,  do  but  let  me  ex- 
press it !  I  mean :  love  of  a  maiden,  love  of  a  woman. 
I  remember  yet,  Father,  what  it  was  to  me  when 
I  saw  the  maiden,  and  my  soul  knew  delight  for 


LOVE  47 

the  first  time.  It  was  like  a  sea,  like  a  broad 
heaven,  like  death.  It  was  light — and  I  had  been 
blind  !  It  hurt,  Father — my  heart  beat  so  vio- 
lently— and  my  eyes  burned.  The  world  was  a 
fire,  and  all  things  were  strange,  and  began  to 
live.  It  was  a  great  flame  flaring  from  out  my 
soul.  It  was  so  fearful,  but  so  lovely,  and  so  infi- 
nitely great !  Father,  I  think  it  was  greater  than 
Tao  !  " 

"  I  know  well  what  it  was,"  said  the  sage.  "  It 
was  Beauty,  the  earthly  form  of  the  formless  Tao, 
calling  up  in  you  the  rhythm  of  that  movement 
by  which  you  will  enter  into  Tao.  You  might 
have  experienced  the  same  at  sight  of  a  tree,  a 
cloud,  a  flower.  But  because  you  are  human,  living 
by  desire,  therefore  to  you  it  could  only  be  revealed 
through  another  human  being,  a  woman — because, 
also,  that  form  is  to  you  more  easily  understood, 
and  more  familiar.  And  since  desire  did  not 
allow  the  full  upgrowth  of  a  pure  contemplation, 
therefore^was  the  rhythm  within  you  wrought  up  to 
be  wild  tempest,  like  a  storm-thrashed  sea  that 
knows  not  whither  it  is  tending.  The  inmost 
essence  of  the  whole  emotion  was  not  '  love,'  but 
Tao." 

But  the  calmness  of  the  old  sage  made  me  im- 
patient, and  excited  me  to  answer  roughly  : 

"  It  is  easy  to  talk  thus  theoretically,  but  seeing 
that  you  have  never  experienced  it  yourself,  you 
gan  understand  nothing  of  that  of  which  you  speak !  " 


48  WU  WEI 

He  looked  at  me  steadily,  and  laid  his  hand 
sympathetically  on  my  shoulder. 

"  It  would  be  cruel  of  you  to  speak  thus  to  any 
one  but  me,  young  man  ! — I  loved,  before  you  drew 
breath  in  this  world !  At  that  time  there  lived  a 
maiden,  so  wondrous  to  see,  it  was  as  if  she  were 
the  direct-born  expression  of  Tao.  For  me  she  was 
the  world,  and  the  world  lay  dead  around  her.  I 
saw  nothing  but  her,  and  for  me  there  existed  no 
such  things  as  trees,  men,  or  clouds.  She  was  more 
beautiful  than  this  evening,  gentler  than  the  lines 
of  those  distant  mountains,  more  tender  than  those 
hushed  tree-tops ;  and  the  light  of  her  presence 
was  more  blessed  to  see  than  the  still  shining  of 
yonder  star.  I  will  not  tell  you  her  story.  It  was 
more  scorching  than  a  very  hell-fire — but  it  was 
not  real,  and  it  is  over  now,  like  a  storm  that  has 
passed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  die  ;  I  longed 
to  flee  from  my  pain  into  death. — But  there  came  a 
dawning  in  my  soul,  and  all  grew  light  and  compre- 
hensible. Nothing  was  lost.  All  was  yet  as  it  had 
been.  The  beauty  which  I  believed  to  have  been 
taken  from  me  lived  on  still,  spotless,  in  myself. 
For  not  from  this  woman,' — out  of  my  soul  had 
this  beauty  sprung ;  and  this  I  saw  shining  yet, 
all  over  the  world,  with  an  everlasting  radiance, 
Nature  was  no  other  than  what  I  had  fashioned 
to  myself  out  of  that  shadowy  form  of  a  woman. 
And  my  soul  was  one  with  Nature,  and  floated 
with  a  like  rhythm  towards  the  eternal  Tao." 


LOVE  49 

Calmed  by  his  calmness,  I  said  :  "  She  whom 
/  loved  is  dead,  Father — She  who  culled  my  soul 
as  a  child  culls  a  flower  never  became  my  wife. 
But  I  have  a  wife  now,  a  miracle  of  strength  and 
goodness,  a  wife  who  is  essential  to  me  as  light 
and  air.  I  do  not  love  her  as  I  even  now  love  the 
dead.  But  I  know  that  she  is  a  purer  human 
being  than  that  other.  How  is  it  then  that  I  do 
not  love  her  so  much  ?  She  has  transformed  my 
wild  and  troubled  life  into  a  tranquil  march  to- 
wards death.  She  is  simple  and  true  as  Nature 
itself,  and  her  face  is  dear  to  me  as  the  sun- 
light." 

"  You  love  her,  indeed  !  "  said  the  sage,  "  but 
you  know  not  what  love  means,  nor  loving.  I  will 
tell  it  you.  Love  is  no  other  than  the  rhythm  of 
Tao.  I  have  told  you :  you  are  come  out  of  Tao, 
and  to  Tao  you  will  return.  Whilst  you  are  young — 
with  your  soul  still  enveloped  in  darkness — in  the 
shock  of  the  first  impulse  within  you,  you  know 
not  yet  whither  you  are  trending.  You  see  the 
woman  before  you.  You  believe  her  to  be  that 
towards  which  the  rhythm  is  driving  you.  But  even 
when  the  woman  is  yours,  and  you  have  thrilled  at 
the  touch  of  her,  you  feel  the  rhythm  yet  within  you, 
unappeased,  and  know  that  you  must  forward,  ever 
further,  if  you  would  bring  it  to  a  standstill.  Then 
it  is  that  in  the  soul  of  the  man  and  of  the  woman 
there  arises  a  great  sadness,  and  they  look  at  one 
another,?questioning  whither  they  are  now  bound. 

E 


50  WU  WEI 

Gently  they  clasp  one  another  by  the  hand,  and 
move  on  through  life,  swayed  by  the  same  impulse, 
towards  the  same  goal.  Call  this  love  if  you  will. 
What  is  a  name  ?  I  call  it  Tao.  And  the  souls 
of  those  who  love  are  like  two  white  clouds 
floating  softly  side  by  side,  that  vanish,  wafted 
by  the  same  wind,  into  the  infinite  blue  of  the 
heavens." 

"  But  that  is  not  the  love  that  I  mean  !  "  I  cried. 
"  Love  is  not  the  desire  to  see  the  loved  one  ab- 
sorbed into  Tao ;  love  is  the  longing  to  be  always 
with  her ;  the  deep  yearning  for  the  blending  of 
the  two  souls  in  one ;  the  hot  desire  to  soar,  in 
one  breath  with  her,  into  felicity  !  And  this  always 
with  the  loved  one  alone — not  with  others,  not 
with  Nature.  And  were  I  absorbed  into  Tao,  all 
this  happiness  would  be  for  ever  lost !  Oh  let  me 
stay  here,  in  this  goodly  world,  with  my  faithful 
companion !  Here  it  is  so  bright  and  homely, 
and  Tao  is  still  so  gloomy  and  inscrutable  for 
nte." 

"  The  hot  desire  dies  out,"  he  answered  calmly. 
"  The  body  of  your  loved  one  will  wither  and  pass 
away  within  the  cold  earth.  The  leaves  of  the 
trees  fade  in  autumn,  and  the  withered  flowers 
droop  sadly  to  the  ground.  How  can  you  love  that 
so  much  which  does  not  last  ?  However,  you  know, 
in  truth,  as  yet,  neither  how  you  love  nor  what  it  is 
that  you  love.  The  beauty  of  woman  is  but  a  vague 
reflection  of  the  formless  beauty  of  Tao.  The  emo- 


LOVE  51 

tion  it  awakens,  the  longing  to  lose  yourself  in  her 
beauty,  that  ecstasy  of  feeling  which  would  lend 
wings  for  the  flight  of  your  soul  with  the  beloved — 
beyond  horizon-bounds,  into  regions  of  bliss — believe 
me,  it  is  no  other  than  the  rhythm  of  Tao  ;  only 
you  know  it  not.  You  resemble  still  the  river  which 
knows  as  yet  only  its  shimmering  banks  ;  which  has 
no  knowledge  of  the  power  that  draws  it  forward ; 
but  which  will  one  day  inevitably  flow  out  into  the 
great  ocean.  Why  this  striving  after  happiness, 
after  human  happiness,  that  lasts  but  a  moment 
and  then  vanishes  again  ?  Chuang-Tse  said  truly  : 
'  The  highest  happiness  is  no  happiness/  Is  it  not 
small  and  pitiable,  this  momentary  uprising,  and 
downfalling,  and  uprising  again  ?  This  wavering, 
weakly  intention  and  progress  of  men  ?  Do  not 
seek  happiness  in  a  woman.  She  is  the  joyful 
revelation  of  Tao  directed  towards  you.  She 
is  the  purest  form  in  the  whole  of  nature  by 
which  Tao  is  manifested.  She  is  the  gentle  force 
that  awakens  the  rhythm  of  Tao  within  you.  But 
she  is  only  a  poor  creature  like  yourself.  And 
you  are  for  her  the  same  joyful  revelation  that  she  is 
to  you.  Fancy  not  that  that  which  you  perceive 
in  her  is  that  Tao,  that  very  holiest,  into  which 
you  would  one  day  ascend  !  For  then  you  would 
surely  reject  her  when  you  realized  what  she  was. 
If  you  will  truly  love  a  woman,  then  love  her  as  being 
of  the  same  poor  nature  as  yourself,  and  do  not  seek 
happiness  with  her.  Whether  in  your  love  you  see 


52  WU  WEI 

this  or  not — her  inmost  being  is  Tao.  A  poet  looks 
upon  a  woman,  and,  swayed  by  the  '  rhythm,'  he 
perceives  the  beauty  of  the  beloved  in  all  things — in 
the  trees,  the  mountains,  the  horizon  ;  for  the 
beauty  of  a  woman  is  the  same  as  that  of  Nature. 
It  is  the  form  of  Tao,  the  great  and  formless,  and 
what  your  soul  desires  in  the  excitement  of  behold- 
ing— this  strange,  unspeakable  feeling — is  nothing 
but  your  oneness  with  this  beauty,  and  with  the 
source  of  this  beauty — Tao.  And  the  like  is  ex- 
perienced by  your  wife.  Ye  are  for  each  other  angels, 
who  lead  one  another  to  Tao  unconsciously." 

I  was  silent  for  a  while,  reflecting.  In  the  soft 
colouring  and  stillness  of  the  evening  lay  a  great 
sadness.  Above  the  horizon,  where  the  sun  had 
set,  there  glimmered  a  streak  of  faint  red  light, 
like  dying  pain. 

"  What  is  this  sadness,  then,  in  the  Nature  around 
us  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  there  not  that  in  the  twilight 
as  though  the  whole  earth  were  weeping  with  a 
grievous  longing  ?  See  how  she  mourns,  with  these 
fading  hues,  these  drooping  tree-tops,  and  solemn 
mountains.  Human  eyes  must  fill  with  tears,  when 
this  great  grief  of  Nature  looms  within  their  sight. 
It  is  as  though  she  were  longing  for  her  beloved 
— as  though  everything — seas,  mountains  and 
heavens — were  full  of  mourning." 
:  And  the  Sage  replied :  "  It  is  the  same  pain 
which  cries  in  the  hearts  of  men.  Your  own  longing 
quivers  in  Nature  too.  The  '  Heimweh '  of  the 


LOVE  53 

evening  is  also  the  '  Heimweh  '  of  your  soul.  Your 
soul  has  lost  her  love  :  Tao,  with  whom  she  once 
was  one  ;  and  your  soul  desires  re-union  with  her 
love.  Absolute  re-union  with  Tao — is  not  that 
an  immense  love  ? — to  be  so  absolutely  one 
with  the  beloved  that  you  are  wholly  hers,  she 
wholly  yours  ; — a  union  so  full  and  eternal  that 
neither  death  nor  life  can  ever  cleave  your  oneness 
again  ?  So  tranquil  and  pure  that  desire  can  no 
more  awaken  in  you — perfect  blessedness  being 
attained,  and  a  holy  and  permanent  peace  ?  .  .  . 
For  Tao  is  one  single,  eternal,  pure  infinitude 
of  soul. 

"  Is  that  not  more  perfect  than  the  love  of  a 
woman  ? — this  poor,  sad  love,  each  day  of  which 
reveals  to  you  some  sullying  of  the  clear  life  of 
the  soul  by  dark  and  sanguine  passion  ?  When  you 
are  absorbed  into  Tao,  then  only  will  you  be  com- 
pletely, eternally  united  with  the  soul  of  your  be- 
loved, with  the  souls  of  all  men,  your  brothers, 
and  with  the  soul  of  Nature.  And  the  few  moments 
of  blessedness  fleetingly  enjoyed  by  all  lovers  upon 
earth  are  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  that  end- 
less bliss  :  the  blending  of  the  souls  of  all  who 
love  in  an  eternity  of  perfect  purity." 

A  horizon  of  blessedness  opened  out  before  my 
soul,  wider  than  the  vague  horizon  of  the  sea, 
wider  than  the  heavens. 

"  Father  !  "  I  cried  in  ecstasy,  "  can  it  be  that 
everything  is  so  holy,  and  I  have  never  known  it  ? 


54  WU  WEI 

— I  have  been  so  filled  with  longing,  and  so  worn- 
out  with  weeping  ;  and  my  breast  has  been  heavy 
with  sobs  and  dread.  I  have  been  so  consumed 
with  fear  !  I  have  trembled  at  the  thought  of  death  ! 
I  have  despaired  of  all  things  being  good,  when  I  saw 
so  much  suffering  around  me.  I  have  believed 
myself  damned,  by  reason  of  the  wild  passions,  the 
bodily  desires,  burning  within  and  flaming  without 
me — passions  which,  though  hating  them,  I  still 
was,  coward-like,  condemned  to  serve.  With  what 
breathless  horror  I  have  realized  how  the  tender, 
flower-like  body  of  my  love  must  one  day  moulder 
and  crumble  away  in  the  cold,  dark  earth  !  I 
have  believed  that  I  should  never  feel  again  that 
blessed  peace  at  the  look  in  her  eyes,  through 
which  her  soul  was  shining.  And  was  it  Tao  ! — 
was  Tao  really  even  then  always  within  me,  like 
a  faithful  guardian  ?  and  was  it  Tao  that  shone 
from  her  eyes  ?  Was  Tao  in  everything  that  sur- 
rounded me  ?  in  the  clouds,  the  trees  and  the  sea  ? 
Is  the  inmost  being  of  earth  arid  heaven,  then,  also 
the  inmost  being  of  my  beloved  and  my  own  soul  ? 
Is  it  that  for  which  there  burns  within  me  that 
mysterious  longing  which  I  did  not  understand,  and 
which  drove  me  so  restlessly  onward  ?  I  thought  it 
was  leading  me  away  from  the  beloved,  and  that 
I  was  ceasing  to  love  her  ! — Was  it  really  the 
rhythm  of  Tao,  then,  that  moved  my  beloved  too  ? 
— the  same  as  that  in  which  all  nature  breathes, 
and  all  suns  and  planets  pursue  their  shining  course 


LOVE  55 

throughout  eternity  ? — Then  all  is  indeed  made 
holy  ! — then  Tao  is  indeed  in  everything,  as  my  soul 
is  in  Tao  !  Oh,  Father,  Father  !  it  is  growing  so 
light  hi  my  heart !  My  soul  seems  to  foresee 
that  which  will  come  one  day ;  and  the  heavens 
above  us,  and  the  great  sea,  they  foretell  it  too  ! 
See,  how  reverent  is  the  pose  of  these  trees  around 
us — and  see  the  lines  of  the  mountains,  how  soft 
in  their  holy  repose  !  All  Nature  is  filled  with 
sacred  awe,  and  my  soul  too  thrills  with  ecstasy, 
for  she  has  looked  upon  her  beloved  !  " 

I  sat  there  long,  in  silent,  still  forgetfulness.  It 
was  to  me  as  though  I  were  one  with  the  soul  of 
my  master  and  with  Nature.  I  saw  nothing  and 
heard  nothing  ; — void  of  all  desire,  bereft  of  all 
will,  I  lay  sunk  in  the  deepest  peace.  I  was  awakened 
by  a  soft  sound  close  by  me.  A  fruit  had  fallen 
from  the  tree  to  the  ground  behind  us.  When  I 
looked  up,  it  was  into  shimmering  moonlight.  The 
recluse  was  standing  by  me,  and  bent  over  me 
kindly. 

"  You  have  strained  your  spirit  overmuch,  my 
young  friend  !  "  he  said  concernedly.  "It  is  too 
much  for  you  in  so  short  a  time.  You  have  fallen 
asleep  from  exhaustion.  The  sea  sleeps  too.  See, 
not  a  furrow  breaks  its  even  surface ;  motionless, 
dreaming,  it  receives  the  benediction  of  the  light. 
But  you  must  awaken  !  It  is  late,  your  boat  is 
ready,  and  your  wife  awaits  you  at  home  in  the 
town." 


56  WU  WEI 

I  answered,  still  half  dreaming  :  "I  would  so 
gladly  stay  here?  Let  me  return,  with  my  wife, 
and  stay  here  for  ever  !  I  cannot  go  back  to  the 
people  again  !  Ah,  Father,  I  shudder — I  can  see 
their  scoffing  faces,  their  insulting  glances,  their 
disbelief,  and  their  irreverence  !  How  can  I  retain 
the  wondrous  light  and  tender  feeling  of  my  soul 
in  the  midst  of  that  ungracious  people  ?  How  can 
I  ever  so  hide  it  under  smile  or  speech  that  they 
shall  never  detect  it,  nor  desecrate  it  with  their 
insolent  ridicule  ?  " 

Then,  laying  his  hand  earnestly  upon  my  shoulder, 
he  said : 

"  Listen  carefully  to  what  I  now  say  to  you,  my 
friend,  and  above  all,  believe  me.  I  shall  give  you 
pain,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  You  must  return  to 
the  world  and  your  fellow-men  ;  it  cannot  be  other- 
wise. You  have  spoken  too  much  with  me  already  ; 
perhaps  I  have  said  somewhat  too  much  to  you. 
Your  further  growth  must  be  your  own  doing,  and 
you  must  find  out  everything  for  yourself.  Be 
only  simple  of  heart,  and  you  will  discover  every- 
thing without  effort,  like  a  child  finding  flowers. 
At  this  moment  you  feel  deeply  and  purely  what 
I  have  said  to  you.  This  present  mood  is  one 
of  the  highest  moments  of  your  life.  But  you 
cannot  yet  be  strong  enough  to  maintain  it.  You 
will  relapse,  and  spiritual  feeling  will  turn  again 
to  words  and  theories.  Only  by  slow  degrees 
will  you  grow  once  more  to  feel  it  purely  and  keep 


LOVE  57 

it  permanently.  When  that  is  so,  then  you  may 
return  hither  in  peace,  and  then  you  will  do  well 
to  remain  here  ;  — but  by  that  time  I  shall  be  long 
dead. 

"  You  must  complete  your  growth  in  the  midst 
of  life,  not  outside  it ;  for  you  are  not  yet  pure 
enough  to  rise  above  it.  A  moment  ago,  it  is  true, 
you  were  equal  even  to  that,  but  the  reaction  will  soon 
set  in.  You  may  not  shun  the  rest  of  mankind  ; 
they  are  your  equals,  even  though  they  may  not 
feel  so  purely  as  you  do.  You  can  go  amongst 
them  as  their  comrade,  and  take  them  by  the  hand  ; 
only  do  not  let  them  look  upon  your  soul,  so  long 
as  they  are  still  so  far  behind  you.  They  would 
not  mock  you  from  evil-mindedness,  but  rather  out 
of  religious  persuasion,  being  unaware  how  utterly 
miserable,  how  godless,  how  forsaken  they  are,  and 
how  far  from  all  those  holy  things  by  which  you 
actually  live.  You  must  be  so  strong  in  your 
conviction  that  nothing  can  hinder  you.  And  that 
you  will  only  become  after  a  long  and  bitter  struggle. 
But  out  of  your  tears  will  grow  your  strength, 
and  through  pain  you  will  attain  peace.  Above  all 
remember  that  Tao,  Poetry  and  Love  are  one  and 
the  same,  although  you  may  seek  to  define  it  by 
these  several  vague  terms  ;  — that  it  is  always  within 
you  and  around  you  ; — that  it  never  forsakes  you  ; 
and  that  you  are  safe  and  well  cared  for  in  this 
holy  environment.  You  are  surrounded  with  bene- 
fits, and  sheltered  by  a  love  which  is  eternal.  Every- 


58  WU  WEI 

thing  is  rendered  holy  through  the  primal  force 
of  Tao  dwelling  within  it." 

He  spoke  so  gently  and  convincingly  that  I  had 
no  answer  to  give.  Willingly  I  allowed  myself  to 
be  guided  by  him  to  the  shore.  My  boat  lay  mo- 
tionless upon  the  smooth  water,  awaiting  me. — 

"  Farewell,  my  young  friend  !  Farewell !  "  he 
said,  calmly  and  tenderly.  "  Remember  all  that  I 
have  told  you  !  " 

But  I  could  not  leave  him  in  such  a  manner. 
Suddenly  I  thought  of  the  loneliness  of  his  life  in 
this  place,  and  tears  of  sympathy  rose  to  my  eyes. 
I  grasped  his  hand. 

"  Father,  come  with  me  !  "  I  besought  him.  "  My 
wife  and  I  will  care  for  you ;  we  will  do  every- 
thing for  you ;  and  when  you  are  sick  we  will  tend 
you.  Do  not  stay  here  in  this  loneliness,  so 
void  of  all  the  love  that  might  make  life  sweet  to 
you  !  " 

He  smiled  gently,  and  shook  his  head  as  a  father 
might  at  some  fancy  of  his  child's,  answering  with 
tranquil  kindness : 

"  You  have  lapsed  already !  Do  you  realize 
now  how  necessary  it  is  for  you  to  remain  in  the 
midst  of  the  every-day  life  ?  I  have  but  this  moment 
told  you  how  great  is  the  love  which  surrounds 
me — and  still  you  deem  me  lonely  here  and  for- 
saken ? — Here,  in  Tao,  I  am  as  safe  at  home  as  a 
child  is  with  its  mother.  You  mean  it  well,  my 
friend,  but  you  must  grow  wiser,  much  wiser  !  Be 


LOVE  59 

not  concerned  for  me  ;  that  is  unnecessary,  grateful 
though  I  am  to  you  for  this  feeling.  Think  of  your- 
self just  now.  And  do  what  I  say.  Believe  that  I 
tell  you  that  which  is  best  for  you.  In  the  boat 
lies  something  which  should  remind  you  of  the  days 
you  have  spent  here.  Farewell !  " 

I  bent  silently  over  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  I 
thought  I  felt  that  it  trembled  with  emotion  ;  but 
when  I  looked  at  him  again  his  face  was  calm  and 
cheerful  as  the  moon  in  the  sky. 

I  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  the  boatman  took 
up  the  oars.  With  dextrous  strokes  he  drove  it 
over  the  even  surface  of  the  water.  I  was  already 
some  way  from  the  land  when  my  foot  struck  against 
some  object  in  the  boat,  and  I  remembered  that 
something  for  me  was  lying  there.  I  took  it  up. 
It  was  a  small  chest.  Hastily  I  lifted  the  lid. 
And  in  the  soft,  calm  moonlight  there  gleamed  with 
mystical  radiance  the  wonderful  porcelain  of  the 
Kwan-Yin  image,  the  same  which  the  old  man  had 
cherished  so  carefully,  and  loved  so  well. 

There,  in  the  lofty  tranquility  of  severe  yet  gentle 
lines,  in  all  the  ethereal  delicacy  of  the  transparent 
porcelain,  reposed  the  pure  figure  of  Kwan-Yin, 
shining  as  with  spiritual  radiance  amidst  the  shim- 
mering petals  of  the  lotus. 

I  scarcely  dared  believe  that  this  holy  thing  had 
been  given  to  me.  I  seized  my  handkerchief,  and 
waved  with  it  towards  the  shore,  to  convey  to  the 
recluse  my  thanks.  He  stood  there  motionless, 


60  WU  WEI 

gazing  straight  before  him.  I  waited  longingly  for 
him  to  wave — for  one  more  greeting  from  him — 
one  more  sign  of  love — but  he  remained  immov- 
able. 

Was  it  I  after  whom  he  was  gazing  ?  Was  he 
gazing  at  the  sea  ?  ... 

I  closed  the  lid  of  the  chest,  and  kept  it  near 
me,  as  though  it  had  been  a  love  of  his  which  I 
was  bearing  away.  I  knew  now  that  he  cared  for 
me ;  but  his  imperturbable  serenity  was  too  great 
for  me — it  saddened  my  mood  that  he  had  never 
signed  to  me  again. 

We  drew  further  and  further  away ;  the  outlines 
of  his  figure  grew  fainter  and  fainter ;  at  last  I 
could  see  it  no  more. 

He  remained  ;  with  the  dreams  of  his  soul,  in  the 
midst  of  Nature — alone  in  infinity — bereft  of  all 
human  love — but  close  to  the  great  bosom  of  Tao. 

I  took  my  way  back  to  the  life  amongst  man- 
kind, my  brothers  and  equals — in  all  the  souls 
of  whom  dwells  Tao,  primordial  and  eternal. 

The  ornamental  lights  of  the  harbour  gleamed 
already  in  the  distance,  and  the  drone  of  the  great 
town  sounded  nearer  and  nearer  to  us  over  the 
sea. 

Then  I  felt  a  great  strength  in  me,  and  I  ordered 
the  boatman  to  row  still  more  quickly.  I  was 
ready. — Was  I  not  as  safely  and  well  cared  for 
in  the  great  town  as  in  the  still  country  ? — in 
the  street  as  on  the  sea  ? 


LOVE  61 

In  everything,  everywhere,  dwells  Poetry — Love 
— Tao.  And  the  whole  world  is  a  great  sanctuary, 
well-devised  and  surely-maintained  as  a  strong, 
well-ordered  house. 


NOTES 


NOTES 

1.  p.  4.  This  is  a  fact.     Chinese  priests  are  in  the 
habit  of  repeating  Sutras  which,  to  judge  by  the  sound, 
have  been  translated  from   the   Sanscrit  into  Chinese 
phrases  of  which  they  do  not  understand  one  word. 

2.  p.  6.  The     "  Yellow    Emperor "    is    a    legendary 
emperor,  who  appears  to  have  reigned  about  the  year 
2697  B.C. 

3.  p.  6.  That  which  follows  in  inverted  commas  is  an 
extract   translated  from   the  twelfth  chapter    of    the 
"  Nan  Hwa  King." 

4.  p.  7.  The  following  passage,  as  far  as  the  sentence 
"  and  the  Millions  return  again  into  One  "  is  an  adapta- 
tion— not  a  translation — of  the  first  section  of  "  Tao- 
Teh-King."    Lao-Tse's  wonderfully  simple  writing  can- 
not possibly  be  translated  into  equally  simple  passages 
in  our  language.    This  rendering  of  mine — arrived  at 
partly  by  aid  of  Chinese  commentators — is  an  entirely 
new  reading,  and  is,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  the 
true  one.     One  of  the  most  celebrated,  and,  in  a  certain 
sense,  one  of  the  most  competent  of  the  sinologues,  Her- 
bert Giles,  translates  of  this  first  section  only  the  first 
sentence,  and  finds  the  rest  not  worth  the  trouble   of 
translating !  (compare   "  The    Remains   of   Lao   Tzii," 
by  H.  A.  Giles,  Honkong,  China  Mail  Office,  1886). 

65  n. 


66  WU  WEI 

This  same  scholar  translates  "  Tao  "  as  "  the  Way  ", 
not  perceiving  how  impossible  it  is  that  which  Lao-Tse 
meant — the  highest  of  all,  the  infinite — should  be  a  "way," 
seeing  that  a  way  (in  the  figurative  sense)  always  leads  ta 
something  else,  and  therefore  cannot  be  the  highest. 
Another  still  more  celebrated  sinologue,  Dr.  Legge, 
translates  "  Tao  "  as  "  Course  ",  and  out  of  the  simple 
sentence  :  "If  Tao  could  be  expressed  in  words  it  would 
not  be  the  eternal  Tao  "  he  makes  :  "  The  Course  that 
can  be  trodden  is  not  the  enduring  and  unchanging 
course."  The  whole  secret  is  this  :  that  the  sign  or  word 
"  Tao  "  has  a  great  number  of  meanings,  and  that  in 
Confucius's  work  "  Chung  Yung  "  it  does  as  a  matter  of 
fact  mean  "  Way  "  ;  but  in  a  hundred  other  instances 
it  means :  "  speech,  expression,  a  saying."  Lao-Tse 
having,  in  one  sentence,  used  this  sign  in  two  different 
senses,  nearly  all  translators  have  suffered  themselves 
to  be  misled.  The  sentence  is  as  simple  as  possible, 
and  in  two  of  my  Chinese  editions  the  commentators 
put :  "  spoken,"  and  :  "  by  word  of  mouth."  But  of 
all  the  sinologues  only  Wells  Williams  has  translated 
this  sentence  well,  namely  thus  :  "  The  Tao  which  can 
be  expressed  is  not  the  eternal  Tao."  Although  the 
construction  of  the  phrase  is  not  accurately  rendered, 
at  any  rate  Williams  has  grasped  the  meaning. 

After  my  work  had  already  appeared  in  the  periodical 
De  Gids,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  Professor  de  Groot's 
work  "  Jaarlijksche  feesten  en  gebruiken  der  Emoy  Chi- 
neezen,"  from  which  I  gathered  that  he  agreed  with  me 
in  so  far  as  to  say  also  that  "  Tao  "  was  untranslatable — 
a  sub-lying  conception  "  for  which  the  Chinese  philoso- 
pher himself  could  find  no  name,  and  which  he  conse- 
quently stamped  with  the  word  "  Tao."  Professor  de 
Groot  adds :  "  If  one  translates  this  word  by '  the  univer- 
sal soul  of  Nature,'  '  the  all-pervading  energy  of  nature," 


NOTES  67 

or  merely  by  the  word  '  Nature '  itself,  one  will  surely 
not  be  far  from  the  philosopher's  meaning." 

Although  the  term  holds  for  me  something  still  higher, 
yet  I  find  Professor  de  Groot's  conception  of  it  the  most 
sympathetic  of  all  those  known  to  me. 

5.  p.  ii.  This  "  Wu-Wei " — untranslatable    as  it  is 
in  fact — has  been  rendered  by  these  sinologues   into 
"  inaction  " — as  though  it  signified  idleness,  inertia.     It 
most  certainly  does  not  signify  idleness,  however,  but 
rather  action,  activity — that  is  to  say  :  "  inactivity  of  the 
perverted,  unnatural  passions  and  desires,"  but "  activity 
in  the  sense  of  natural  movement  proceeding  from  Tao." 
Thus,  in  the  "  Nan  Hwa  King  "  we  find  the  following  : 
"  The  heavens  and  the  earth  do  nothing  "  (in  the  evil 
sense)'"  and  "  (yet)  "  there  is  nothing  which  they  do  not 
do."    The  whole  of  nature  consists  in  "  Wu-Wei,"  in 
natural,  from-Tao-emanating  movement.     By  translat- 
ing   Wu-Wei    into    "  iuaction "    the    sinologues    have 
arrived  at  the  exact  opposite  of  the  meaning  of  the 
Chinese  text. 

Lao-Tse  himself  does  not  dilate  further  upon  the  sub- 
ject. What  follows  here  is  my  own  conception  of  the 
text.  The  whole  first  chapter  of  the  original  occupies 
only  one  page  in  the  book,  and  contains  only  fifty-nine 
characters.  It  testifies  to  Lao-Tse's  wonderful  subtlety 
and  terseness  of  language  that  he  was  able  in  so  few  words 
to  say  so  much. 

6.  p.  12.  This  sentence  is  translated  from  the  "  Tao- 
Teh-King  "  (chapter  ii). 

7.  p.  12.  From  the  56th  chapter.    This  sentence  is 
also  to  be  found  in  I5th  chapter  of  the  "  Nan  Hwa 
King." 

8.  p.  17.  This  runs  somewhat  as  follows  in  the  6th 
chapter  of  the  Nan  Hwa  King :   "  The  true  men  of  the 


68  WU  WEI 

early  ages  slept  dreamlessly,  and  were  conscious  of  self 
without  care." 

9.  p.  19.  This  episode  is  translated  from  the   i8th 
section  of  the  "  Nan  Hwa  King."    By  the  "  Great  House J> 
Chuang-Tse  meant,  of  course,  the  universe,  and  this  ex- 
pression "  house  "  lends  to  the  passage  a  touch  of  fami- 
liar intimacy,  shewing  Chuang-Tse  to  have  the  feeling  that 
the  dead  one  was  well  cared-for,  as  though  within  the 
shelter  of  a  house. — H.  Giles,  who  renders  it "  Eternity,'* 
which  does  not  appear  at  all  in  the  Chinese  text,  loses 
by  his  translation  the  confiding  element  which  makes 
Chuang-Tse's  speech  so  touching.     (Compare  "  Chuang 
Tsy,"  by  H.  Giles,  London,  Bernard  Quaritch,  1889). 
The  actual  words  are  :  "  Ku  Shih  "  =  Great  House. 

10.  p.  21.  In  almost  all  the  temples  is  a  chamber  in 
which  the  Mandarins  lodge,  and  where  Western  travel- 
lers may  usually  stay  for  the  night,  and  probably  for 
longer  periods. 

11.  p.  25.  The  following,  to  the  end  of  the  sentence  : 
"  Poetry  is  the  sound  of  the  heart,"  has  been  translated 
by  me  from  a  preface  by  Ong  Giao  Ki  to  his  edition  of  the 
Poetry  of  the  Tang-Dynasty.     Ong  Giao  Ki  lived  in  the 
first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

12.  p.  35.    The    Chinese    do    really    preserve    their 
treasures  in  this  careful  manner.    It  is  usual  for  an  an- 
tique figure  of  Buddha  to  lie  in  a  silk-lined  shrine,  the 
shrine  in  a  wooden  chest,  and  the  chest  in  a  cloth.     It  is 
unpacked  upon  great  occasions. 

X3-  P-  35-  Such  a  figure  as  the  above-described  is  not 
a  mere  figment  of  the  author's  imagination — such  figures 
really  exist.  A  similar  one  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
author. 

14-  P-  35-    The  Soul-Pearl  "  Burma." 

J5-  P-  37-    The  figure  in  the  author's  possession  is  by 


NOTES  6? 

Tan  Wei.  Another  great  artist  was  Ho  Chao  Tsung,  of 
certain  figures  by  whom  I  have  also,  with  very  great 
trouble,  become  possessed.  These  names  are  well  known 
to  every  artist,  but  I  have  endeavoured  in  vain  to  dis- 
cover anything  nearer  with  regard  to  them.  They  be- 
came famous  after  death  ;  but  they  had  lived  in  such 
simplicity  and  oblivion,  that  now  not  even  their  birth- 
place is  remembered.  One  hears  conjectures,  but  I  could 
arrive  at  no  certainty. 


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